From Nothing
by StumpyBear
Summary: A broken Hawke finds salvation in an unexpected place. Stumpybear fluff/smut warning.
1. Meetings

"This cannot be." The voice was clearly agitated though no features could be discerned in the heavy shadows.

Taarbas shrugged. "The task was set. Hawke accomplished it." He peered into the gloom, trying to see more than a silhouette.

"And she never asked about gold?"

"The criteria were fulfilled exactly. I gave her the staff."

His answer was a low growl of discontent that quickly faded and Taarbas realised that he was alone. There was something here that made him uneasy but whatever happened now was out of his hands. He had discharged his duty and was heading back to Par Vollen on the next available ship. Except he wasn't. How could he? It would be against the Qun to walk away from this when he suspected that something was going to go badly awry. No, he would stay in Kirkwall and watch, and see what happened.

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"Where did you get that?"

The unexpected, growled question made Hawke jump, ale slopped over fingers to puddle on the already unpleasantly sticky tabletop. "Shit," she murmured and turned slowly, narrowing her bleary eyes to focus on a Qunari. She frowned, he looked vaguely familiar but it was nearing the end of what had turned out to be an unwisely long night.

She had left Varric, Isabela and Fenris still playing Wicked Grace when her own coin had run out resisting the temptation to borrow from the Barkeep at his exorbitant rates. Her intent had been to quietly finish her pint and wend her unsteady way home.

The Qunari glowered at her. "I asked..." he began.

Hawke held up her hand. "I heard you. What are you talking about?" she asked, bluntly.

He motioned impatiently at the stave strapped across her back. Bassrath-Kata. Five feet of beautiful red steel tapering to a gleaming bayonet; it was a staff that handled like a true extension of her being.

"It was given to me," she said, her voice bland.

Her surprise had evaporated leaving the comforting grey she had grown accustomed to. She pulled it around her like a blanket unaware that her eyes dulled.

The furrows across his brow puckered as he stared down at her, his curiously colourless eyes drilling into her face as if he was trying to see the truth inside her head.

"Who gave it you?" His voice was slow, laden with mistrust.

Hawke shifted uneasily, wondering if she was going to be forced to defend against an attack, if she could shout loudly enough for the others to hear. She glared back at him, debating whether to answer.

"Taarbas," she said at last and watched puzzlement chase the suspicion from his features as his head dipped in uncertainty. It was such a familiar gesture, her throat constricted and her breath caught as He intruded briefly into her thoughts; another one dead at her hand.

"Why?" The voice of the Qunari in front of her was gentler than His had ever been.

Hawke forced herself to focus and motioned him to sit; her neck was beginning to complain at craning to look up at him. He complied and sat stiffly, his muscled body tensed as if ready to flee.

"He tasked me with finding blades of the Qunari who had fallen," she explained.

"He tasked you? He did not look himself?" The Qunari shook his head. "What is it about you?" he murmured to himself before swiftly adding, "I do not want to know."

Hawke frowned. "Is something troubling you?" She was drunk, she knew that from the way the floor lurched and heaved if she looked at it for longer than a millisecond, but she had the feeling that this conversation would be just as confusing had she been sober.

"You, a bas, holds Bassrath-Kata. I did not think to ever see such a thing but if you did as you say and found the lost blades with no question of gain, you are worthy. That is undeniable."

Hawke studied him; he had the usual massive shouldered, snake-hipped build of the Qunari. His horns curled back, neatly fitting to the line of his skull and protruding no more than two inches over the characteristic silky-looking, white hair. His pale skin gleamed silvery in the dim light of the inn and he seemed strangely naked without the red war paint she had been used to seeing.

More than three years had passed since the attempted takeover, since she ... Hawke firmly shut down that line of thought as a spark of memory ignited.

"I remember you now. You warned us about the Tal-Vashoth on the Wounded Coast. You didn't help us," she added, a faintly accusing tone in her voice.

"You did not need my help. Your companions were armed to the teeth and you are Saarebas." The last imbued with the faint sneer that seemed a part of the word.

Hawke shook her head; she had never thought to hear that name again. "I am Hawke," she corrected as she had done the first time the scathing appellation had fallen from His lips.

The disgust for magic masked the fear. A fear that had proved well founded. Hawke took a deep breath; was it the presence of a Qunari that was causing her mind to fling these disturbing fragments of memory at her? she wondered, and made a decision.

"I am Maraas," the Qunari offered.

"Good to meet you, Maraas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be heading home." She rose unsteadily to her feet.

"Alone? The streets are dangerous at night."

Hawke smiled briefly. "I am Saarebas."

She slipped out of the Hanged Man into a sticky Lowtown night, the promise of thunder hung heavy in the air. Hawke cut across the deserted market place towards the steps that would take her to Hightown.

"Well, what have we here?" The lazy, drawling voice came from behind her.

Hawke spun, her staff was in her hand before she gone half circle. Eight, and a couple of archers. A challenge then, a chance that she might lose, that it all might … finish, her heart leapt in anticipation. She gestured, a sharp drain of mana and Digby, her Mabari, twisted in excitement at her feet before charging towards to the thugs. Another quick blast of mana flung the men closest to her backwards in graceful arcs; they were frozen before they hit the ground. Hawke cast Rock Armour on herself and began to fight in earnest.

She had whittled the gang down to an archer and one dick with a sword when she was suddenly shoved forwards to land face down in the dust, the breath knocked from her body. She screamed in outrage as a fist wound into her hair and her head was jerked up. A knife-blade pressed threateningly against her throat.

"A mageling eh? I'll get good gold for you." A voice sneered in her ear. The leader she realised. She thought she'd killed him. And now he had her in the unfortunate position of being unable to repel him for fear of the blade held against her skin.

There was a sudden cry, abruptly silenced, from somewhere above her and she was dragged roughly to her feet by a hank of hair that her attacker found way too convenient. She stifled a yelp of pain, her eyes flicking first to her staff lying uselessly on the ground and then to Maraas, the Qunari, who had appeared out of the darkness, huge axe swinging almost casually in one enormous hand, and was walking towards them.

"No closer, or I will cut her throat." The knife waved warningly.

"She's no use to you dead." Maraas said, continuing his slow advance.

"I said stop there."

Hawke glanced down; the knife was about six inches from her throat. She closed her eyes and cast mind blast, throwing herself sideways as she did so, the knife nicked her skin, she felt the blood run as the man behind her was suddenly airborne and she screamed in pain as what felt like a large chunk of hair was ripped from her scalp.

With a roar, Maraas brought his axe down on the dazed thugs head and, just like that, the fight was over.

Hawke bent down and picked up her staff, securing it onto her back in a fluid movement. "Thanks for your help," she said, searching out his strangely colourless eyes.

"You are welcome. I warned you that the streets were dangerous." He glanced around at the bodies that littered the ground. "Though not as dangerous as you, it seems."

She grinned fiercely, adrenalin still flooding her system. "I do alright."

Blood was trickling down into the neckline of her robe, Maraas's eyes followed its progress. "How would you have escaped if I had not shown up?"

Hawke shrugged. "He couldn't hold a knife to my throat forever."

There was a peculiar rumbling from deep in the Qunari's chest and Hawke realised that he was laughing.

"Come on mage, I will walk with you."

It had begun there. From that night on the Qunari was always on hand to walk Hawke back to Hightown after a night in the Hanged Man and inevitably, friendship started to bloom.


	2. The Wounded Coast

Hawke stared in excitement at the crumpled parchment, smoothing it on her desk with trembling hands. This was incredible. If this elixir could be made, it would prove invaluable. She ran her fingertip down the list of ingredients. Most were easy enough to find but … she frowned … that one was unfamiliar. A footnote told her that it was a flower.

Over the next few days, Hawke found out all she could about the rare plant, got teased about being obsessed, and concluded that the Wounded Coast might be a good place to search, the conditions were identical to those described in the many books she had scoured.

She decided that she would ask Maraas to accompany her, sure he would accept a job doing something innocuous like looking for a plant. She was strangely pleased when she was right.

They had been out to the Coast three times before searching for the elusive plant. Maraas had proved easy company and very useful in a fight but she had still nearly sent a message cancelling this time, her mood was dark and hopeless, and unshakeable. Her dreams, when she could sleep, were haunted by the ragged, shambling thing with her mother's face animated by a necromancer's insane idea of love.

And, as she knew she would, she cracked. It was one of the days when, if there was a point to anything, it escaped her.

Hawke's shoulders shook as hot, desperate tears slid down her face, dripping from her jaw and she was blind to the savage beauty of the coastline, which she usually loved. The sun gently slipped down the sky to meet the horizon's embrace, as she allowed herself to grieve and succumb to the pressing ache of failure when she thought about all those who had died, and Mother. The bitterest of them all, the hardest to come back from because of what was done to her. Hopelessness, it seemed, was the hardest battle of all.

The crunch of gravel behind her announced Maraas's return. She hastily rubbed her hands across her face, flicking her tears from her fingers and stiffening in surprise when she felt his large hands settle on her shoulders and squeeze gently. She wasn't used to overtures of comfort from anyone but he had begun to seek contact with her, innocently enough, and she found that there was comfort to be had in his undemanding touch.

"You are unhappy." Hawke shrugged but allowed him to turn her on the spot so he could peer down into her face. "And crying."

She could feel the warmth of his palms through her heavy brocade robes. "I'm fine." She attempted what she knew was at best a watery smile, hands dropped from her shoulders and she immediately missed the contact.

"You are lying, but I will not pry." His eyes traced the skyline. "It will soon be dusk. We should get back."

Hawke fell in beside the Qunari as they started back along the dusty track.

"I was thinking about my family," she offered after they had been walking in silence for some time. Maraas grunted in response and no more but there was encouragement in the sound. Hawke breathed deeply and, keeping her voice flat, said "Our home in Lothering was destroyed in the Blight. The four of us barely escaped."

"Four?"

Hawke caught his eye as he glanced at her, his irises crystal in the dimming light. "My sister, Bethany, her twin, Carver and mother."

"You have never spoken of a sister."

She could hear the frown in his tone. "No. Beth didn't even make it to Kirkwall. An ogre got her in the Wilds. We killed the ogre, but Bethany was still dead." Her lips twisted bitterly. "It was a waste."

"Death is seldom otherwise, to those that care," he said and surprised her again by wrapping his large hand around hers. "And your brother?"

"Darkspawn again." Her tone was bitterly light. "In the Deep Roads. He isn't dead though."

"How so?"

"He's a Grey Warden. We had a mage with us on the expedition who had been a Warden. When my brother got the corruption, he found some others in the order and persuaded them to take Carver." She simplified the story having no desire to go into details.

The mage she wouldn't mention by name. She had the uneasy feeling that she was making a mistake letting him live. He was too intense, too driven, too insane.

Glowing with the lightning of the spirit within him, he had nearly killed the mage that they had rescued from Alric and Hawke had known that she would regret letting him live but she did it anyway and took the cowards route of avoiding him.

"It's an honourable order," Maraas said, his voice was as gentle as his fingers entwined with hers.

"It is," she agreed, "but I never see him. At least he's alive."

Maraas didn't ask about her mother. He already knew. Everyone who had been in Kirkwall when it had happened knew.

Her mind skittered; yellow eyes steeped in sympathy only briefly flicking down her body in almost unconscious acknowledgement, and an impossibly gravelly voice offering His condolences, for what that was worth. Hawke shivered, her hand clutching at Maraas's, and felt his fingers press around hers in a comforting response.

They walked in companionable silence and as they rounded the final bend that brought them in sight of Kirkwall, Maraas gave her fingers a final gentle squeeze and let her hand drop from his.

"Are you playing cards with us later?" Hawke asked, curiously bereft.

Maraas stopped in the middle of the path and looked at her, his head cocked to one side. "And end up giving you back the coin you paid me for today?" he rumbled.

Hawke felt her lips pull up into an involuntarily grin and was momentarily surprised, smiling was so rare these days. "Well yes," she answered, in obvious challenge.

Maraas snorted and she knew that he was amused. Hawke looked at him fondly. She couldn't explain why she was so drawn to him, his emptiness perhaps. He had taken a path away from the Qun, sloughing off enough of the conditioning to leave the Qunari, and then the Tal-Vashoth and seemingly replace them both with nothing. Hawke knew how nothing felt. Demons couldn't possess a mage with no desires, no hunger or rage. When everything was a uniform grey, there was nothing for the dream realm to get a hold of.

"You are thinking dark thoughts." Maraas's rumbling voice interrupted her brooding. "Come, let us get back to the city."

There was something in his eyes that she didn't recognise and she realised that she was beginning to sense a change in him, a shift in how he reacted to the world around him, and to her.

Earlier that afternoon, she had watched his face soften into fascinated amusement, his lips curved in a faint smile, as he had studied two beetles engaged in complicated beetle courtship on a rock in the bright sunshine. She had studied him just as intently, noting how his body relaxed into a loose crouch, how the muscles in his thighs bunched, and she had flinched when he grunted in amusement, the sudden noise startling her; The female beetle had lost interest and ambled away from the strutting male, disappearing into a fissure in the rock. The male had tucked away iridescent purple wings and scuttled after her, somehow hopefully.

Hawke pushed the heavy book away from her, rubbing her tired eyes. She had forgotten how, just for those few seconds, she had devoured him with her eyes, greedily dwelling on his swell of muscle, his rippling shoulders, the fall of silky-looking white hair that spilled down his back and briefly imagined his body covering hers, her hands roaming over his muscle, finding out if his hair was as soft as it looked. Where had that come from? Hawke mused. She hadn't been with anyone since her mother died. Her libido had seemingly died the same night; a flailing, helpless thing struck down by a perversion of love.

Hawke glanced out of the window, it was late and she planned to be up early. From her reading, she learned that the plant was one of those rare miracles that sprang up almost overnight; it's pale flowers opening shyly to meet the morning sun. It was highly sought after and if sold, would fetch a good fist of gold from a herbalist.

Hawke's mind was racing as she climbed into bed but when she lay down, it quietened and drifted once more to Maraas and, strangely, his strong hands breaking wood into kindling with the barest flex of powerful biceps, his face intent as he coaxed the fragile, reluctant flame into licking at the wood and, seemingly gaining confidence, take hold, heat igniting dry, fragrant driftwood, his palpable satisfaction as the heady scent filled the air.


	3. Dangerous Thing

"What was it like?" Hawke asked. She and Maraas sat bathed in weak early morning sunlight in a sheltered blind path on the coast. They had left the city just before dawn and had just now stopped to eat dried meat and bread washed down with the cold sweet tea that Maraas was so partial to.

"Hard to explain." Maraas chewed thoughtfully. "Rows of silent _imekeri _staring straight ahead listening to the _Tamassran_, every day for several hours. In the afternoons, all were sent to practice what they would become."

Hawke frowned. "What do you mean?" She had grown up in Ferelden and spent her childhood climbing trees and skinning her knees. The culture he spoke of was alien to her.

"I was twelve when I was sent into the Beresaad as Karasten. Too young to be so singularly defined."

"I don't think that anybody, at any age, would want to be so singularly defined," Hawke said, the faint hint of a smile in her voice.

"What about you? You are..." he started to say Saarebas but corrected himself, "a mage. It cannot have been easy growing up."

"My father and sister were both mages. My father escaped from the circle here in Kirkwall and ran away with my mother to Ferelden." She smiled sadly. "He knew the dangers of magic and he taught us to be strong. We were raised as normally as possible. Once we were old enough to understand the consequences of using magic, it was easier for our parents." Hawke took another small piece of the tough, chewy dried meat and popped it into her mouth.

"It doesn't scare you?"

"No. It's a part of me. It would be like being scared of my own arm."

Maraas snorted. "And the demons?"

"Don't bother me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be absolutely 100% sure but as I haven't turned into an abomination and tried to slaughter my friends, I'm not worrying about it."

Hawke was suddenly angry; angry with everything, angry with him. She had spent her whole life being treated like an explosive device that had to be handled just so and, over time, it had got wearing, so very wearing. She had lost so many to magic and because of it, and had to kill a whole load more. That was the price. That and the loneliness.

She felt the strong line of his thigh press against hers and the warm weight of his hand on her knee. "I did not mean to offend you," he rumbled. "I am trying to understand." He didn't move his hand.

Hawke stared at it, slightly bemused, his fingers tipped in short, blunt-cut claws… she remembered a different hand with claws that were long and razor-sharp brushing her hair across her shoulders, gently seizing her neck in a grip that, if he squeezed, would have killed her ... then covered as much of Maraas's hand as she could with her own. She glanced at his face and, as she briefly squeezed his fingers, saw the quick tiny smile before he continued.

"We are taught that magic should be controlled and because it frightens us, we seek to dominate it not caring that it is a person that we want to control." He tilted his head toward her and she was drawn into his silvery gaze. "I am not frightened of you but I should be. You are a tiny woman and yet you defeated the Arishok in single combat."

"He was a fool to suggest such a thing. He knew what I am," she snapped as her anger flared again masking her discomfort at the reference to Him.

Hawke took a deep breath; her emotions were stirring more and more, with every day that passed there was slightly more colour in her world. It was nerve-racking, there had been grey for so long, but there was a part of her that welcomed the idea of truly living once more, and that part seemed to gaining ground.

"He was, but he must have believed that he could win." Maraas shrugged. "He was wrong. Word of his defeat spread, even up here. When I heard, I wondered if it was the same mage I had met, the one who had wiped out the Tal-Vashoth."

Hawke relaxed; it felt unexpectedly good to talk about the Arishok openly. There. She had named him, if only in her head. "I still feel bad about it. I destroyed him. I'm not sure he deserved that," she confessed.

"He had his book." Maraas's disdain for his former life was apparent in his tone and Hawke was reminded again just how unusual he was. " And plenty of proof of your abilities," he continued. "He should have withdrawn at that point. He was arrogant and he lost."

So simply summed up. Was that really all it was? Another fight won. Move on. Hawke rose abruptly to her feet and strode the couple of feet to the cliffs edge.

Despite the carcasses of wrecked ships, it was one of the more breath-taking views along the coast. The starkness of pointed black rocks reflected in serene, silver water. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun.

"There is something I would ask you." Maraas's voice was soft and right behind her. She hadn't heard him approach, intent as she was on the simple feeling of sun on her skin.

"What?"

"Would it comfort you if I held you?"

Hawke had to strain to catch his words and almost snorted in disbelief before she realised that the question was a serious one and nothing more than what he asked. She turned slowly to look at him, he seemed vulnerable and uncertain so she smiled and walked back to the convenient, low rock that served as their seat most mornings they came up here.

"That's an odd question," she said after he had settled himself next to her.

"It is," he agreed. "It is something else that I am trying to understand." He shifted and the line of his thigh found hers once more, firm and strong. "You are sad, empty, and I know this. I was empty when I left the Tal-Vashoth." Maraas leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped as he stared out over the still, almost glassy sea. " I have come to regard you very highly," he said, his voice was stilted and embarrassed but determined. "I offer comfort, if you wish comfort from me but I am unsure how humans express such things."

Hawke wondered how long he had been working up to this. It was obviously an important moment to him. If it had been any other man, she would have suspected an ulterior motive but not Maraas. Not unless she had completely misjudged him. And she was touched, very touched by his gentle, honest concern about her.

"How do Qunari express such things?" Hawke asked, her voice lighter than she had intended. Maraas stiffened; a brief scowl flitted across his face. "I mean no offence. You've surprised me. I didn't realise that you ..." Hawke didn't know how to continue. She stared down at her tightly laced fingers, embarrassed by her lack of social grace.

The body beside her relaxed. "I am not Qunari. To be Qunari is to be under the Qun. I am Maraas. I am nothing."

"Do you believe that?"

He shrugged massive shoulders. "I realise that it up to me to fill the emptiness if I wish it to be filled. I live amongst humans so it is logical to learn about them."

"Live not exist?" she questioned and allowed her body to tentatively relax against his.

"Ah." He turned to face her, pleased, and she saw the now familiar glitter in his eyes. Her lips tugged into a smile as she realised what it was and wondered if something similar sparked briefly in her own eyes.

Before she realised what she was doing, Hawke reached up and gently stroked his ashen cheek, which was strangely slick under her fingers. When she examined her hand, a faint grey residue clung to her skin. She rubbed her fingers together, puzzled, and looked into Maraas's face.

"We use a grease to protect our skin. The Tal-Vashoth mix in ash to become the Grey Ones."

"But you aren't Tal-Vashoth," Hawke protested. A fragment of memory; standing before the Him trying not to stare at the tantalising length of nut brown, muscled thigh framed by polished leathers, trying to ignore the inappropriate stirring in her body.

"It's what I have. When it runs out, I will buy more. Not to use it would be a waste."

Hawke smiled. Maraas retained the Qunari practicality it seemed. Not that practicality was in any way a bad thing.

"Put your arm around my shoulders?" she suggested. He shifted and a warm, weight settled about her, she sighed and nestled into him. He'd been right; it felt good to be held, to feel the warmth of another with no demand. "Thank you," she said, quietly, and thought she felt his lips brush her hair, and dismissed the thought as absurd.

"Marion."

Hawke looked up from re-arranging her pack, Maraas was nowhere in sight, she frowned and rose to her feet, scanning the dusty clearing. A smile split her face as his head and naked torso appeared in the middle of a patch of bushes and he gestured impatiently to her. "Come and see."

Maraas took her hand; guiding her steps through the dense shrubs until she was standing on soft, lush grass. She looked about her, blinking in surprise, the clearing was nearly perfectly circular, surrounded by more of the low bushes and rocks.

"I could build a fire-pit," Maraas rumbled, clearly excited by his discovery. "We could come up at night, be here when dawn comes."

"It is lovely," Hawke murmured, turning full circle and it was. Somehow protected and cosy. She smiled. "Let's come back a few nights from now."

"If we are going to build a camp, we need to leave early."

Hawke nodded, she was strangely excited by the thought of staying out on the Coast all night. It felt somehow bad to plan staying away from her big, safe house in Hightown. She wouldn't have chosen to live there, right under the collective nose of the nobility but her mother's happiness had meant more. Now she rattled around the huge estate with an elven servant, a dog and two dwarves for company, and one of the dwarves was... whatever Sandal was.

"Early," she agreed, and, realising that she couldn't wait to be free, added. "Soon."

Hawke lay back on the soft blanket and stared up at the night sky, picking out familiar constellations. It was comforting to look at stars that were the same as they had always been, that were always constant.

All she could hear was distant waves lapping at the shoreline and the soft rustle of some nocturnal animal looking for its dinner. Beyond the glowing embers of the dying camp-fire, the night pressed in, beside her, Maraas, wrapped cocoon-like in his own blanket, snuffled.

"Are you asleep?" she whispered.

A low groan. "Apparently not," came the grumbled reply.

Hawke stifled a laugh. "Can I ask you a question?" Her thoughts sobered.

"Yes." Horns caught the dying firelight and softly gleamed as his head poked out.

"What does Rut mean?"

The body beside her tensed in surprise. "Where did you hear that?"

"I don't remember," she answered, trying for artless and knowing that he would taste the lie.

Maraas's face came into view as he rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at her in the flickering light. "Marian," he began to ask her but she cut in, quickly.

"Please, just tell me."

"Very well." His expression was unreadable as he looked at her. "Most Qunari are Kossith. Some are human, some are elves but most look like me, Kossith." As he repeated the unfamiliar word, Hawke nodded. Maraas was another species, like elves and dwarves. "In a group of male Kossith, there is one alpha-male." Maraas continued as his eyes narrowed, thoughtfully. "Only the alpha-male goes into rut and only every four years or so. He can breed at any time of course but the Rut is when he can't refuse, when he is driven by urge and instinct." Hawke was relieved that he couldn't see the sudden tightening in her chest and lungs, like her breath had escaped in a rush and there was nothing to replace it. "It's a primitive thing but it does ensure that the strongest traits survive. A strong alpha-male in rut can mate with as many as twenty females over the course of two or three days." His lips twitched into a smirk. "It is not something the Qunari generally speak about it." His expression cleared as his eyes sought her face once more. "I ask again where you heard it."

Hawke closed her eyes in defence and heard him snort in rare irritation, and roll away from her. She shivered despite the warm summer night and the blanket over her and refused to let the crowding memories take her reciting in her mind instead the growing conditions, appearance and properties of the plant they were seeking, the reason that they were here.

Hawke felt her jaw unclench, her body relax; broad, bright green leaves, wide, slightly lop-sided flowers, delicate fragrance of warm honey and mint …. Hawke slept.

The next morning, Maraas's mouth was a hard straight line whenever he looked at her and she could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head as they scoured the dusty paths and rocky clearings.

The sun was getting high when Hawke's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"We should get back. I don't think we're going to find anything this morning." Hawke looked up into his still unhappy face. "Maybe we can come back in a few days?"

Maraas nodded. "Of course," he agreed, shortly. Their late night conversation was plaguing him, how could she know about one of the Kossith's best-kept secrets.

In their homelands, it was seen as a blessing, an encouragement. Away from there and without willing females, he wasn't sure what it would be other than unwelcome.

Maraas put his hands on her shoulders and drew her into his body, his arms slipped about her waist as he held her tight.

"I wish you would tell me how you know, but I accept that it's your right not to tell me if you don't want to," he whispered into her hair.

Her small hands on his chest so she could push back from him and look up into his face. "It's not important," she tried to reassure him. "I heard the term somewhere and was curious."

Maraas knew she was lying but he had no choice other then to let the matter drop. He reluctantly released her from his arms; holding her was strangely satisfying while at the same time, stirred an ache in him that he couldn't identify.

Over the next few weeks, Hawke and Maraas camped out on the Wounded Coast whenever life could spare them. It became a refuge; a secret that was just theirs and Hawke found that however much she enjoyed spending nights in the open air, it was Maraas's company that she looked forward to the most.


	4. Confusion and Enlighteningment

_Two Months Earlier_

"So, you and Hawke." Isabela lounged in one of the comfortable low chairs in Varric's quarters.

"Me and Hawke what?" Maraas asked.

"Traipsing about the wounded coast, staying out all night." The pirate grinned.

"What are you trying to say?"

Isabela frowned, thoughtfully. She wondered suddenly how far the Qunari's education had extended. Deciding that blunt was best, she asked, "You are fucking her, aren't you?"

"Fucking her? Of course not!"

"Of course not," Isabela echoed. "Why of course not?" And then she realised. "The Qunari only have sex to breed." Maraas nodded. "Well, you aren't Qunari any more." She understood better than anyone. "Maybe you should think about exploring the human way of it." She laughed. "You're missing out on so much."

Maraas frowned, puzzled by the comment. The act of copulation was pleasant enough but nothing to get overly excited by. "I will think on what you have said."

"You have no idea, do you?" Isabela was partly teasing but genuinely curious in equal measure. Maraas shook his head, wishing that someone else would show up and save him from the pirate. "I'll tell you what. Next time you and Hawke go off, try looking at her. Really looking at her. Think about her mouth on yours, her naked body, skin on skin."

"To what purpose?"

"See what happens?" Isabela shrugged.

And that had been the beginning of what had become an uncomfortable journey.

Under the Qun, he had been called upon to breed from time to time. He had been instructed in how to open a female so that she could receive his seed without discomfort. He didn't understand how this connected with his increasingly confusing feelings about Hawke. He admired and respected her. That was familiar and easy enough to deal with despite her being Bas-Saarebas.

Since his conversation with Isabela, he was noticing the strangest things about her; the way sunlight brought out deep honey strands in her chestnut hair, the way small white teeth bit into her lower lip when she was concentrating, the way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. Small things, endearing things. Things that made him want to protect her, comfort her. He had the feeling that he was missing something.

_One month earlier_

Maraas approached the pirate warily. He didn't trust her but she was the only person he could talk to about this.

"I have done as you suggested," he began, abruptly.

"And?" the pirate cut in. "Has the thought of being with Hawke given you a raging hard-on?" She was drunk, he realised.

"Never mind." He turned to leave but she caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Stay Maraas. Stay and tell Isabela all about it."

Very drunk, he amended sitting on the stool beside her and signalling the barman. "I have done as you suggested," he said again in a more conciliatory tone, a frown creasing his forehead. "I am confused. I want to protect her, keep her from harm and something else, but I don't know what." An edge of frustration had crept into his voice.

Isabela stood up, swaying unsteadily, and grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said.

"What?"

"Just come with me."

Maraas shrugged and allowed himself to be led through the inn into a dimly lit back room.

Once inside, Isabela kicked the door shut behind her and pushed him against the rough-hewn wall, her hands immediately finding the laces of his breeches. He caught her hands in one of his.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

Isabela rolled her eyes at him and sank to her knees, Maraas had to release her or break her wrists. Her busy fingers returned to his crotch.

"Trust me," she urged, pulling the ties undone and reaching into his breeches. "Ah..." she sighed bringing his soft, reluctant cock into view. She looked up at him. "Do as I say."

Maraas nodded; despite his vulnerability, a desperate curiosity had settled on him and he had the feeling that much was about to be explained.

Isabela smiled in victory. "Close your eyes and imagine that I am Hawke. Imagine that your mage kneels in front of you holding your cock in her soft little hands."

Maraas relaxed against the wall, trying to do as she asked and ignore the splinters that were pressing into his skin. The pirate's hands were roughly calloused, nothing like Hawke's. His face scrunched in concentration. The pirate didn't smell like Hawke.

He was about to declare the exercise pointless when he felt breath stir the fine hairs around the base of his cock and a line of hot wetness trace his limp length. He took a sharp intake of breath as the tongue circled his tip and he was plunged into sucking warmth.

"Uh!" His fists banged uselessly against the wall as his back bowed. Isabela's arm fastened about his hips as she moved with him, taking more and more of his rapidly hardening length into her mouth. Her other hand gripped the base of his cock, squeezing and twisting just firmly enough to make his toes curl.

Imagine this was Hawke doing this to him, she had said, and he found that this time when he closed his eyes, he had no trouble picturing his mage on her knees creating these exquisite sensations within him, it almost seemed like magic.

Maraas felt a heavy tugging ache start low in his body and knew he would reach completion within moments. He thought about Hawke on the wounded coast in their secluded camp-site stripped to her smalls in hot afternoon sun, her skin glowing faintly pink and gleaming as she lay on a blanket, reading. A sight he had seen frequently now, her toned body always startling. He groaned as the pirate did something unspeakably delicious with her tongue, her two hands and mouth creating a hot slick sensation akin to being inside a female proper.

In his head, he pulled Hawke's smalls off her unresisting body and parting her legs, thrust into her.

And came, the thought of entering her too much. He grunted low in his chest, his hips thrusting into the pirate's eager mouth.

She milked him dry, expertly wringing every last drop of pleasure from his orgasm. His body was trembling when she finally let him slip from her bruised lips and grinned up at him, eyes sparkling wickedly. "Before you go to sleep tonight, think about this. Think about Hawke." Isabela rose easily to her feet and sauntered towards the door. "Come on, you owe me a drink for that."

After Isabela had forced the connection between his affection for Hawke and sex being with the mage was an exquisite torture. He seemed supernaturally aware of her every movement, her innate grace. He watched her covertly when she was reading, idly sharpening the blade of his huge war-axe so that it didn't seem like he was completely idle, wondering what her body would taste like, wishing he could he could free her breasts and flick her nipples into hard peaks with his tongue before burying his face between her legs and making her come and come. His time with her was now accompanied with a perpetual hard-on, achingly painful most of the time, and Hawke never seemed to notice.

Days flowed into weeks and he was no closer to making the crucial step that would get Hawke into his bed or naked on a blanket on the wounded coast.

_Two days earlier_

The pirate eyed him thoughtfully. Maraas knew that his face was creased with tension, his mouth an unhappy line.

"She doesn't want me. Not like that." His growl had a tinge of pitiful.

"Hmm, I'm sure that's not it. Hawke has been through a lot and come out the other side a very tough woman. You're her friend, her confidante and I just don't think it's occurred to her that you could be her lover too." Isabela's face split into a wide grin. "I'm sure it would if she knew what you were hiding." She looked meaningfully at his groin and ran her tongue across her lips. "I'd be happy to if you – ah - need a little relief."

Maraas shook his head impatiently. It wasn't _her_ mouth he wanted. "I don't know how to …" Maraas trailed off, feeling hopeless.

"I think you just need to give a little push," Isabela murmured. "When are you going camping next?"

"Tomorrow night. It's a full moon."

"Okay. Make sure Hawke comes in before then."

And the deed was done. One carafe of very good red wine spiked with a little extra something that reduced inhibition and increased desire exponentially.


	5. Pushed

SMUT WARNING

Hawke shifted uncomfortably, whatever Maraas was saying became muffled and faded out as her skin prickled with sweat beneath her suddenly too heavy, too tight robes. The skin that was exposed to the air grew clammy. She sat up straighter, stretching her spine against the unpleasant feeling, lifting her arms above her head, fingers flexed, reaching for the night sky.

Maraas watched her from across their campfire, a frown furrowing his forehead.

"Are you alright?"

His voice came from a long way off. Hawke could bear the confinement no longer, her skin felt as if it was crawling.

"I'm not sure." She lurched to her feet, swaying unsteadily, her fingers tearing ineffectually at the fastenings on the back of her robe. "Too hot," she mumbled. "Help me." The ground beneath her feet was lazily undulating; the bushes and rocks that surrounded their snug little campsite flickered strangely. "Oh Maker, the wine," Hawke murmured, forcing her foggy brain to rational thought.

_The pirate had laughed uproariously and insisted that she take the unopened carafe of dark red wine that was sitting innocently on the bar when Hawke had reluctantly revealed her plans for the night._

_"Camping!" Isabela exclaimed. "And far enough from the city that no-one will hear you scream." Her eyebrows waggled suggestively and Hawke had to laugh._

_"It's not like that. We're friends."_

_"Of course," the pirate agreed, cheerfully. "Take the wine. Enjoy it. I can get another for Fenris and me."_

And, foolishly, she had taken the wine at face value.

"Marian." Maraas's voice was unusually commanding and her eyes found his concerned face. He uncoiled and was on his feet behind her in one easy movement, one large hand gripped her upper arm firmly holding her still swaying form upright, the other slid under her hair and deftly undid the fastenings of her robe, his fingers moving swiftly down her back and, when the line of her pale skin was visible from neck to waist, pushed the heavy material down her arms.

Maraas stepped back as the robe slipped down her body, puddling around her ankles, staring at her toned shoulders and arms, his eyes travelling down to her firm, rounded ass snugly concealed in soft, brown cloth. She was lithely muscled, not the soft creature he expected a human mage to be, and it was always a surprise.

Hawke laughed aloud, stepping free of the infernal robe, the night air on her suddenly exposed flesh was exquisite. She stumbled, Maraas reached out, grabbing her arm before she could fall, and pulled her into the line of his body, steadying her.

"What about the wine?" he growled.

All she could feel the heat of Maraas's skin on hers, the hard line of him pressed to her, she sagged against his body, her legs nearly collapsing under her, as something primal stirred inside her. Her skin, where it touched his, tingled, sending sparks shooting through her body to pool molten between her legs, she couldn't think. What had he asked?

An arm behind her knees and she was suddenly airborne, Hawke's head swum as her eyes struggled to adjust. What seemed like a heartbeat later, she was deposited gently on her bedroll in the low, two-man tent Maraas had erected earlier that evening and he was knelt beside her, his horns brushing the low canvas.

"Marian," his voice was impatient. "What was in the wine?" Hawke giggled and reached up to stroke his face, he caught her wrist in a firm grip, even that touch awoke the sparks.

"I don't know. Isabela gave it to me." She giggled again and he let her wrist fall. "She and Fenris were going to drink it so nothing too bad I wouldn't think."

Maraas's eyes narrowed as if he was fighting some impulse then, with a deep groan, he collapsed onto his bedroll beside her and rolled onto his side, head propped on one hand. "You don't know? Maybe, but think you can guess?" He waved a hand carelessly at his groin.

Hawke gasped as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and picked out the line of his cock, straining towards the high waistband of the light, summer breeches he wore, so obviously achingly hard. She felt an answering tug between her own legs as her body flooded with heat once more and she felt her smalls dampen.

"Oh Maker," she breathed, fighting the urge to run her fingers along his concealed length.

"It's been like that since I held you." He sounded slightly bewildered. "I have held you many times without this happening. The scent of your hair is still in my nostrils, I want to..." His voice trailed off.

"Slide that into my body?" the wine suggested, dreamily, Hawke's eyes were still fixed on his groin greedily estimating the length of him. She smiled to see the resultant throb beneath the thin cloth and barely had time to take a breath before his mouth was on hers, kissing her fiercely as his hand urgently skimmed over her skin to her hip, his fingers trailed across her tummy, tracing the edge of her smalls. She stiffened as his fingers slipped under the material, her body was aching for him to touch her _there_, she moaned into his mouth as one thick finger slowly traced the line of her sex before sliding into her wet folds and lightly circling her swollen clit. He snaked an arm under her shoulders, she felt his fingers fumble with the simple tie of her breast-band and then pull sharply; his mouth left hers and trailed down her neck as his fingers continued to stroke and caress her sex. She moaned again when he nuzzled the material covering her breasts aside and his eager mouth fixed on one nipple, quickly lavishing it to a hard peak with his tongue and carefully nipping teeth.

She felt his fingers leave her slit and jerk her small clothes down her thighs and over her knees, chasing them down her calves with one strong, hot hand and finally throwing them free, her skin danced and tingled in the wake of his touch. The hand slid up her shin and settled on her knee for a moment before hooking underneath it and smoothly angling her leg upward and out, exposing her to the cool night air and his fingers unerringly found her clit before one substantial digit slid slowly inside her, carefully exploring her.

"Oh Maker," Hawke groaned and heard Maraas snort in amusement against her skin,

"He won't help you." He was suddenly a hard heat on top of her, she whimpered as he pressed his groin to hers, she could feel the hot, solid length of him through his breeches as he rubbed against her, making her twist and writhe beneath him.

"Oh please." It was a whimper.

Maraas lifted his hips and reached down between their bodies, his deft fingers making quick work of the laces. He grunted in relief as he finally freed himself and saw Hawke's eyes widen as his prodigious cock sprang from its confinement. He grasped himself firmly and stroking her wetness, found the entrance he sought. He pinned her to the ground again with his weight, and pushed steadily into her; feeling her hot tightness flutter in resistance, he scooped her up into his arms to get a better purchase on her body, cradling her to his chest as his hips pumped deeper and deeper with each thrust, his mouth blinding seeking hers.

Hawke's legs wrapped about his hips, her tongue invaded his mouth as her arms snaked about his neck. He dragged his mouth from hers to trail wetly down her neck; he was completely sheathed within her and could go no deeper. He shuddered with the satisfaction.

"There are so many things I want to do to you, but this first," he growled into the warm curve of her neck.

Hawke yelped in surprise as Maraas rocked backwards and up onto his feet, his arms locked about her waist, her body still impaled on his cock, her limbs wrapped around him. He looked fondly into her face.

"Tent too low," he explained, kneeling on the soft blanket spread out on the lush grass beside the campfire. His hands found her hips and he began to slowly manoeuvre her up and down his glistening shaft.

Hawke pressed her mouth to his. She was coming undone. She could feel the impossibly sweet, heavy tension building quickly. It had been a long time. Her toes curled as she felt the beginning of the wave take her.

He felt the muscles in her legs begin to quiver and he was sheathed in roiling, molten flame as she screamed into his mouth, her orgasm bowing her helpless body against his, her thighs widening to allow him even deeper. He grunted and flattened his body on top of hers once more, his hips losing their careful rhythm as he pounded into her body until his world exploded in light and stars and he thought he would drown in the pleasure and the heat of her.

Hawke stilled, gasping for air against his neck as his hips bucked into her a final time, she felt the last of his seed gush into her and he collapsed, half covering her body.

"That was …" Hawke began, and had no words to finish.

Maraas rolled onto his back, drawing her unresisting body with his so that she lay along the hard muscle of his chest, his half flaccid cock slipping from inside her to slap stickily onto his thigh. "Worth doing again," he rumbled and felt the breath of her laughter on his skin.

"Maker. Yes."

Maraas watched her eyes slide closed, her face relax into sleep as her breathing evened. He leant over her and pressed a lingering kiss to the breast shyly peeking out from the top of the blanket before laying down close beside her, drawing the blanket over his hips.

It would be dawn soon, they had been awake for most of the night but sleep eluded him. He shivered, reliving his tongue licking and teasing her, her upper body flailing as he tasted her and himself in her juices, his powerful arms locked around her hips and thighs, holding her perfectly immobile, her long keening wails as he brought her three or four times in rapid succession until she had begged him to stop for a moment, that it was too much. His cock shifted, stiffening at the memory. He wondered if if was the effects of the wine still, or his own sexuality unleashed. He wondered if she would forgive him if he told her the truth. That the wine had been a deliberate gift from Isabela at his own behest though he hadn't known exactly what would be in it. Would the pirate mention it to Hawke?


	6. Maraas's Dilemma

Maraas groaned and covered his face in the crook of his arm. Now that the deed was done, that he and Hawke had finally done some of things he had dreamt about, he felt uneasy. He had cheated. Pushed a situation onto his mage that she may not have wanted. Left to her own devices and desires, she may never have looked at him in that way. If he hadn't pushed, would she have come to him? He couldn't really blame Isabela however much he wanted to, he had given the pirate a free reign, taken her instruction. He wondered now if he might not have been better off talking to one of her other close companions but the dwarf and the elf were fiercely protective of her.

He sighed. What was done was done. And it had been spectacular. More than he could have hoped for. But now he found, all he wanted was to do it again. Hawke shifted and rolled in her sleep, presenting her creamy white back to him. Maraas sighed and, resisting the urge to caress the pale flesh, closed his eyes, his hand almost unconsciously wrapping about his half hard cock. He squeezed gently, savouring the frisson of pleasure that shot through his body, and realised that he was in danger of waking her. He'd learnt that she slept lightly.

In a fluid movement, he sat up and rolled forwards out of the tent, coming to a full stretch in the gathering dawn. They would have to break camp and get back to the city early though they had taken to leaving a few heavier items at the campsite rather than lug them back and forth making the trip quicker. He would happily stay there with her forever.

He glanced back at the tent and saw sleepy green eyes watching him. He ducked quickly under the low canvas trying to discern her mood from her face.

"Good morning. Have you slept at all?" Her voice was gentle, still laden with dreams.

Maraas shook his head, his mouth dry as he stared at her lips forming the words. Those lips wrapped around … he pulled the thought up short as his cock leapt and twitched under his folded arm and he was thankful his crouch shielded him from her view. "I'll make tea." He spun clumsily out of the tent and rose to his feet, his body trembling. What had he done? Betrayed her trust at the very least. He had to tell her.

"That was a fine carafe of wine." Her voice was light. He hadn't heard her roll out of her blankets and come to stand behind him. He felt her hands on his hips and her body fit to his as she slid her arms about his narrow waist. She was still naked; the swell of her breasts was firm against his back. He covered her hands with his and felt a sudden lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said, simply. Her arms tightened about him.

"What for?"

"I jumped on you, I ..." he trailed off as he felt her laughter on his skin.

"I wanted to be jumped on. Whatever was in that wine was amazing. They must have incredible times together."

Maraas realised that she meant Isabela and Fenris. Her fingers drifted lower twisting in the tightly curled hair at his groin, he tensed as her slender fingers encircled him and squeezed, hot breath and her tongue on his back, tracing the lines of muscle as she gently persuaded him to aching hardness. He was pliant and unresisting in her arms when she turned him to face her and her head dipped lower and lower. He let out a single, inarticulate cry when her lips caressed the tip of him and he was enveloped in her hot, sweet mouth. His knees were suddenly watery, he carefully eased himself onto the grass, and Hawke's tongue never left his cock as she moved with him to end up between his splayed legs, her ass in the air. He watched through hooded eyes as her thighs parted and one hand slipped between her legs and began to pleasure herself as well as him, her fingers moving in quick delicate circles. He felt her moan deep in her throat as her movements became increasingly urgent.

"Turn around, on your knees, just like that," he growled, flowing to his knees behind her as she complied. He impatiently pushed her thighs wider with his own and, holding her hips firmly in huge hands, pressed into her in quick ever-deepening thrusts losing himself in the tight, wet heat of her. This was living. This is what the emptiness would be filled with. Her.

Maraas took a deep breath and cuddled the naked mage closer to his body. "There is something I have to tell you." Her head rose from his chest and he was captured in her bright green gaze as one eyebrow lifted enquiringly. "Last night, I knew the wine would have something in it." Her eyes narrowed to emerald slits.

"How?"

"It was the pirate's suggestion, and I agreed. She's been helping me, with you." Maraas admitted, miserably.

"Isabela? Where does she come into this?" The woman in his arms stiffened and disengaged herself. "What do you mean, helping you with me?" He watched her find her robe from where it had been discarded the night before and slide into it, not bothering with smalls and return to stand beside him. He looked up into her face as he sat up.

"I didn't know what to do," he said, simply.

Hawke frowned. "Do?"

Maraas patted the grass beside him and was relieved when she sat down, her arms tightly clasped about her bent knees. "You remember our meeting in the Hanged Man?"

Hawke frowned as she nodded. "What does that have to do with Isabela?" Her voice was hard.

"It was where we began before I knew you." Crystal eyes pleaded with her to understand. "When I saw Bassrath-Kata, I wanted to know you. It was another sign of your spirit, your honour." Maraas tore his eyes from her face to look out to sea not wanting to see any negative reaction stain her features. "I came to regard you highly and something else. Something I couldn't define." He glanced quickly at her, needing to offer reassurance. "When I offered you comfort, that was exactly what I meant at the time but it still wasn't what I was missing. Isabela made the connection for me."

"How?"

Maraas felt his face flush uncomfortably hot. "She took me to a private room, made some suggestions and performed a practical demonstration. Suffice to say, it worked." His voice was stilted and Hawke almost smiled at the thought of Isabela manhandling the wary Kossith. "That was two months ago. Since then, you and I … well … things were the same between us. I spoke to Isabela because I didn't know what to do or say to change things and I agreed when she said she'd help," Maraas finished, not wanting to divulge any more detail.

"I see." Hawke rose gracefully to her feet. "Come on, we had better get back."

Maraas's heart tightened painfully in his chest. She was angry, as she had every right to be. He busied himself taking down the small tent and stowing it in his pack.

When he finished, Hawke was ready to leave. She shouldered her pack and pushed through the bushes onto the wide sandy path without waiting for him. Maraas growled unhappily and followed the silent mage.

Hawke strode down the path lost in thought. He had tricked her and the thought angered her but she also knew that he cared about her a great deal, and the sex, well the sex was on a par with Him, maybe better as Maraas was better proportioned for her body, big but not painfully so. She felt something low in her gut twitch at the thought of him and snorted to herself, she obviously had a thing for huge men with horns. She slowed allowing Maraas to catch up and fall in beside her but didn't speak. She wasn't sure what to say and the Kossith seemed caught in his own thoughts.

Finally, they slipped into the gates of the city. Maraas stopped, looking down at the mage.

"We will go out again?" His voice held a note of pleading.

Hawke shrugged. "I'll send you a message," she said, dismissively.

Maraas's shoulders sagged as something in his chest painfully cracked. "Very well," he said, and was proud that his voice was steady. "Panahedan, Hawke."

Hawke watched him melt away into the morning crowds and shook herself. She needed to get home, to get clean, to think.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hawke tightened her robe around her fresh-smelling, scrubbed body and ran her fingers through long, tangled wet hair. It was glorious to be clean.

After Maraas had told her what he had done, with the pirate's aid admittedly, Hawke was sure that he wouldn't have come up with something so crude on his own, she had felt the beginnings of distaste, of feeling slightly soiled. Her free will had been taken from her. Hawke was no prude, she had always enjoyed sex but there was something about being helpless in its thrall that was both unsavoury and stimulating.

Hawke lay down on her wide bed, curled up on her side and drew a blanket over her. She had arrangements later in the day but for now she could just relax.

She jumped as her bedroom door opened and Digby came padding into her bedroom.

"Well at least close the door behind you," she murmured and smiled as the huge dog expelled a short hrmph of breath and turned to nose the door shut with a gentle click. "Thank you," said Hawke, patting the bed beside her.

Digby, not needing a second invitation, jumped, turned once in a tight circle and flopped onto his side, his back tight to the line of his mistress's body.

Hawke threw an arm over his ribs, wondering what Maraas was doing. Her forehead creased in a frown. Would she have had such wild, abandoned sex with him without the wine? Yes, a voice at the back of her mind reasoned, you had sex with him this morning. Can't blame the wine for that. Hawke grinned to herself. It had been just as good as the night before.

And he had lifted her from her grey existence. His company and curiosity. At first, she had thought that he was as empty as she but she had come to realise that Maraas sought to fill his emptiness. He was greedy for knowledge and experience, his enthusiasm was endearing. He had been a great friend to her, and she admitted to herself for the first time, she felt safer in his arms than she ever had in anyone's. She took a deep breath. Maraas had still tricked her. Plotted behind her back, with Isabela of all people. That hurt. She had trusted him.

Hawke's mouth tightened as memory closed in; He had sent a message to the Viscount urgently requesting her presence at the Qunari compound. She had gone immediately and alone, worrying that something had happened to tip the balance and break the fragile peace in the city; she had presented herself like a lamb...

_The Arishok glared at her, something dark and dangerous in his hooded yellow eyes. He gestured to one of the ever-vigilant Karasten and murmured something in his foreign tongue into the attentive ear and then his eyes fixed once again on her._

_"I have a task for you, Hawke."_

_He rose smoothly to his feet and, motioning the mage to follow, stalked into the tunnels. She stumbled through what seemed like endless dimly lit passages before crossing huge, empty barracks into the reasonable comfort of his office._

_Hawke was bemused, she had never been invited below the Compound before. What on earth could the Arishok want her to do?_

_She looked around the shelf-lined room with interest. The Arishok had a fondness for books and they were in many different languages. She had long suspected that he was an educated man._

_A large, beautifully polished wooden desk dominated the room, she could easily visualise him sat behind it in the equally large, comfortable looking chair but its surface was clear. Hawke frowned; it looked like it should be littered with papers and books._

_The Arishok's hands on her shoulders, turning her so he could peer down into her face, interrupted her study._

_"I have a task for you, Hawke," he repeated, his voice strained. "It is an unusual task but I hope you will embrace it."_

_Hawke frowned; the edge in his voice was making her uneasy. There was a heavy tightness of expectation in the air that she didn't understand and the Arishok's massive frame was between her and the door._

_"What do you want, Arishok?" she asked, bluntly, trying to cover her unease. He seemed tense, more than tense, like his body was coiled, barely restrained, and the feeling radiated off him in waves._

_The hands on her shoulders tightened, he took a quick half step toward her, halving the distance between their bodies. "I want you to remove that robe," he growled, letting his hands fall passively to his sides, expecting her to obey._


	7. Memory (Be Careful What You Wish For)

SMUT WARNING

_"Uh … Arishok?" Hawke backed away from the towering man until her ass met the hard wooden line of his desk and she could go no further._

_The Arishok, his face twisted into a sneer, stalked towards her. She looked up into his face as he stopped way too close to her and she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Her fingers twitched, preparing to fling a spell at the Qunari leader if he threatened her. She felt his large hand slide under her hair and thick fingers grip her neck, lightly, holding her head angled to his._

_"You desire me." His eyes drilled into her face and her breath caught guiltily as she was reminded of all the times she had been mesmerised by the width of his chest, his inner thigh or bulging arms. And the fantasies she entertained herself with alone in her bed at night. "Am I wrong, Hawke?" He asked, silkily. She felt her face flush and inwardly cursed her Ferelden white skin._

_A low rumbling sound deep in the painted chest baffled her until she realised he was laughing at her. She drew herself up angrily and realised it was a mistake as her chest brushed his and she felt her nipples instantly harden at the contact. She sank back against the desk sure that he could not have felt that tiny change in her body._

_"I thought not," the Arishok, rumbled._

_He had felt it then. She stifled a yelp of surprise as his hands found her waist and fingers bunched, drawing the heavy skirts of her robe inexorably up her legs._

_"Arishok, I don't think this is the time for this." Hawke tried to twist out of his hands as her heart began to race wildly._

_"Be still, Hawke." The hands tightened, her skirts hovered just above her knees. "It is exactly the time for this. I have decided to indulge you."_

_Hawke frowned. "Indulge me?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. The fingers began to bunch and gather material once more exposing smoothly muscled thighs._

_"I am in rut." He growled and there was anger in his tone as his huge head bowed to hers, Hawke stiffened as she felt his face in her hair, his lips find her neck. "There are no Qunari females here but I remembered your greedy eyes on me – you didn't think I noticed? – so, I have chosen you to give me relief. Think of it as a duty to Kirkwall." Her skirts had reached the end of their journey and were bunched about her waist, one muscled arm slid around her body securing the heavy material leaving his other hand free to roam along the length of her thighs._

_Hawke's mind raced frantically as she felt the arm behind her back angle up and dexterous fingers begin to unfasten her robe. She couldn't freeze him, he would still be holding her, and mind blast was dangerous for the same reason. She went through her spells, panicking slightly as she realised that she had nothing that would get her out of this situation._

_Having fantasies about the Arishok was one thing but Hawke suspected that the reality, if things were to go that far, would quite different, as she was sure he wouldn't be small in any way. She squirmed in his hold._

_"Arishok. Let me go." Hawke felt his breath on her newly revealed shoulder and stilled as he sank sharp teeth warningly into her flesh, hard enough to mark her but not draw blood. She stifled an outraged cry as her bodice was tugged down to her waist and her wrists were seized in a punishing grip behind her back, the tiny bones grinding in protest. "Ow!" The indignity of his large hand sliding between her thighs to cup her sex and lift her smoothly onto the polished surface of his wide desk. He bent over her, forcing her backwards, her arms trapped uncomfortably behind her back caught in the tight, unbuttoned sleeves of her robe. His fingers settled around her neck pressing her flat as his mouth fastened on her breast through the thin material of her breast-band and he sucked her nipple into a hard peak._

_Hawke wondered what would happen if she yelled for help. She gathered her breath and was about to find out when the hand moved from her neck and clamped over her mouth, silencing her instantly._

_"I wouldn't do that." The Arishok briefly paused from grazing on her breasts, which were quivering under his attentions, peaking in hard nubs under the damp cloth._

_Hawke felt a reluctant stab of pleasure between her legs and, as if he sensed it, the Arishok's fingers begin to stroke her at the junction of her thighs._

_"Mmmph." His palm muffled her protest at the intimate touch._

_"I would have both my hands free." He lifted his head from her breast and looked into her wide eyes. "I could gag you," he added, his tone almost conversational. "Or tie you down."_

_His fingers lightly trailed across her smalls, bunched, and with a savage jerk and tearing of cloth, ripped them from her body. Her hips cannoned up into his and she briefly felt his huge erection throbbing against her through the thin linens he wore._

_Hawke struggled, trying to wriggle out from underneath his body but he had her pinned to his desk, the hand clamped over her mouth and nose was making it hard to breathe and her head was starting to feel oddly light. She felt his hand snake between her arms and find the fastening at her back, he pulled it experimentally and growled against her skin as it pinged loose and he could tug the cloth free from her body with his teeth leaving her fully exposed to him. He spat the material aside; his mouth fastening on her nipple once more sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body._

_Hawke stilled under him trying not to acknowledge what he was stirring in her body. Teeth nipped at one nipple and she couldn't stop the tremor that coursed through her. The hand at her back, which had been idle, travelled downwards, cupped and squeezed her ass before one knuckle slowly traced the line of her sex with a light circling touch._

_"You will enjoy this, Hawke. I intend to see to that." He shifted his massive body until his face was level with hers and he could stare down into her bright, green eyes, the rest of her face was still masked by his hand. "Now, if I take this hand away, will you scream for help?"_

_Hawke was pinned by his yellow eyes; the hand between her legs stroked her, not invasive yet. She closed her eyes to escape his stare, her body involuntarily arching when one fingertip parted her and settled on her clit, rubbing it into a hard, aching nub. She moaned into his palm and it was gone to be replaced by his lips, his tongue invading her mouth as he kissed her, his mouth hard and rough on hers. His hands left her and Hawke realised that he was shucking his breeches over his hips, freeing himself. She thrashed, trying to worm out from under his chest, to tear her mouth from his but he had her effectively trapped under him. She felt his huge hands spread her thighs wider and his body position itself carefully between them. Two fingers swiped the line of her sex coating themselves in her hot wetness, her body's traitorous reaction to his stimulation._

_The Arishok drew his lips from hers and held the fingers before her eyes. "So wet, Hawke," he murmured. His long tongue came out and licked at his fingertips. "I find it hard to believe you are unwilling." His gaze raked down her body as he stuck the fingers into his mouth almost absently and sucked on them. She stared at him; her body had betrayed any lie that would drop from her lips_

_Hawke wailed; one heavy arm across her hips kept her flat on the desk as the Arishok slid back onto his knees, his shoulders holding her thighs wide as his tongue plunged into her, circling and working her open. Her upper body flailed helplessly as his wicked, talented tongue teased, licked and sucked her steadily to an orgasm that made her see stars as her body twitched and jerked in his hands._

_The Arishok rose to his feet and looked down at her pale, trembling body; his hands firmly grasped her hips as he pushed the head of his dripping cock into her._

_"Now you can scream, little Saarebas," he said, and shoved forwards, his body covering hers as his massive length ploughed into her and Hawke obliged, her body bucking helplessly under his as she was ripped asunder, tightening in agony around the cock invading her body, trying desperately to force it out of her. He hit the bottom of her, bumping against the neck of her womb, tearing another scream from her throat as she writhed, her body breaking into a light sweat as he stilled within her and she was impaled upon him, stretched to her limits._

_"I couldn't make that not hurt." His voice was a velvet rumble in her ear; she could feel his hot breath stirring her hair. He flexed deep inside her and she felt the first glimmer of something other than pain. His arm snaked under her drawing her up closer to his chest, the other hand entwined in her hair and Hawke screamed again as the Arishok bucked against her, withdrawing half his length before thrusting deep inside her once more. He jerked her head back and his mouth descended on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in an echo of his cock pounding her body._

_Hawke felt her loins become molten heat, her world contracted to the feel of him fucking her, her body eagerly opening to receive him now without any pain just all-encompassing pleasure._

_The Arishok grunted into her mouth, his body was hot and slick against hers and he wrenched his mouth from hers._

_Hawke felt him shudder and his hips slam into her as he came, his thick, hot seed spraying straight into her womb. She suppressed a wild giggle at the thought of what her mother would say if the Qunari leader impregnated her. His arms tightened almost painfully about her and she was crushed to his heaving chest, she felt his lips on her hair._

_"A good start," he rumbled when his breathing had returned mostly to normal._

_"Start?" Hawke protested and heard his rumbling laugh once more._

_"I am in rut, Hawke, and that is not satisfied so easily, or quickly. Rut is when male Qunari have to mate. No matter who they are." He straightened, his arms still tight around her body. "You are honoured to have been chosen."_

_Although he had come, his length was still hard and throbbing inside her. Hawke shifted, bringing her legs up about his hips so she could cling to him with her thighs. She could no longer feel her hands, still trapped in the sleeves of her robe. She didn't feel honoured._

_The Arishok strode across his office and ducked under a thick curtain. He unwrapped her legs from his body and, lifting her from his cock, set her gently on her feet, turning her so that he could examine her ensnared hands. Her skirts rushed to meet her ankles and his tongue clicked in disapproval._

_Hawke felt his fingers carefully work the small buttons at each wrist undone and with a whisper, her robe pooled about her feet and the Arishok's large hands were rubbing life back into hers. She flexed her fingers against the sudden pins and needles and looked around._

_An enormous bed covered in furs dominated the space. She gasped as she was suddenly pushed forwards to land face down in the yielding softness, the Arishok's hard body was swarming over hers, pulling her legs apart, his cock a throbbing length along her back. He flicked his hips up and thrust into her from behind, giving her no time to adjust as he sank into her and began to fuck her once more._

_The hours passed in a sweaty haze, Hawke lost count of the times he came inside her._


	8. Duty

SMUT WARNING

_Hawke sighed, she lay naked on his furs on her stomach, eyes closed as the Arishok's hand soothed her back rather like one would a pet as he allowed her a rare short break._

_"You are dry, Hawke," he complained as his hand travelled down her body and between her legs._

_Hawke's eyes flicked open to be confronted by the sight of his huge cock, still hard and dripping. "I am sore and exhausted," she corrected._

_"It will hurt you if I …"_

_"Again?" Hawke couldn't keep the groan from her voice._

_"Your capacity for this is remarkable for a human." The Arishok leant over her body and tugged on a discreet rope at the side of the wide bed. "Here." He handed her a water-skin, the liquid was blessedly cool as it slid down a throat hoarse from screaming and she drank thirstily. Hawke relaxed into the furs and closed her eyes, drifting into a light sleep._

_Hawke felt the bed shift; the Arishok's hand became a warningly heavy weight in the middle of her back as he spoke in his guttural tongue. Hawke twisted her head to look back over her shoulder and stiffened. One of his pale, red painted Karasten knelt on the bed beside her body. She turned back to look at the Arishok who was speaking again and scowled as he flicked his jaw towards her body in an obvious invitation._

_"What the..." Her face was thrust into the furs by his hand moving swiftly from back to neck and she felt a tongue that she knew wasn't his sweep across her lower back. Two large hands grasped her ass, spreading her cheeks so the tongue could dart between and lick and tease at her and she felt an answering warm pulse in her pussy as the tongue pushed into her._

_Hawke's back arched at the skilful touch, it was maddening, dark ripples of pleasure were sweeping through her body. She cried out when two fingers replaced the tongue and the Qunari began to fuck her in slow, steady strokes._

_"Now."_

_Hawke had almost forgotten about the Arishok but she was suddenly being pulled onto his body, the Karasten behind her lifting her hips so she could straddle the Arishok, his cock sliding home once more into her now wet heat. His eyes fluttered shut as he spoke in his tongue to the Karasten._

_Hawke's upper body was flattened to the Arishok's chest, one huge hand held the back of her head, the other her waist. She wailed in protest against the rock hard muscle as she felt the Karasten's hands on her ass, spreading her once more and his body close in behind hers. The Arishok, lodged deep inside her, murmured encouragement, whether to her or his Karasten she couldn't tell._

_Hawke held her breath as she felt something bigger then fingers probe at her, coolly slick as if he was coated in something. She flailed, her hands ineffectually scrabbling at the arms that held her as the Karasten, with a deep grunt, pushed into her and began to fuck her, his cock rubbing against the Arishok's through the thin membrane in her body._

_Hawke felt the Arishok's answering grunt reverberate deep in his chest as his hips started to rise and fall in perfect time with the Karasten's and both men were fucking her in perfect tandem, holding each others eyes over her head, yellow and bright crimson, and she was suddenly drowning in the sensations they were creating in her._

_Hawke screamed over and over, hot tears spilling onto his chest, as orgasm ripped through her body, her insides convulsing and squeezing the cocks pounding into her bringing them, the Karasten's body shook as he came, his hands gripping her hips painfully, the Arishok with an upward thrust that threatened to split her in two and a loud roar._

_Hawke subsided against the hard body beneath her, feeling the Karasten slip from hers. The Arishok was still nestled snugly inside her. With a great effort, she turned her face to look into his._

_"It was him you spoke to when I first arrived, wasn't it?"_

_He nodded. "This Karasten has a unique – ah – talent. I could foresee that it might be required."_

_"Do they all know that I'm down here being fucked senseless by you?" Her tone was bitter._

_He shrugged. "Rut is not easy to hide amongst our kind. I imagine they realise you are giving me relief, yes."_

_"Great," Hawke groaned. "That will do wonders for my reputation."_

_His fingers gently lifted her chin. "My Qunari all know that you are dangerous, that you could kill them with a flick of your tiny hand, that you are no whore. You are performing a duty for your city, Hawke." Yellow eyes bored into her face. "I apologise. When this came upon me, you were the only female here I could think of..."_

_"Who would be stupid enough to come running." Hawke finished, bitterly._

_"Who I could imagine wanting." The Arishok corrected meticulously. "You are very pleasing to the eye, Hawke. Pashaara." He twitched his hips, his massive length stirred in her body; Hawke moaned as she felt a lazy tongue on her back tracing her spine and heat flooded her body once more._

_Finally, the Arishok drew her battered, aching body onto his, cradling her almost tenderly against his chest as his cock slipped from her body, no longer hard and dripping, just spent._

_"It is done," he rumbled, his lips brushing her hair. "You will never speak of this. It is time for you to go now."_

_"If I can..." Hawke murmured, fighting the exhaustion that was washing through her body._

_"Rest a while then, little Saarebas." The name seemed to amuse him, magic conquered by his will and body._

_Hawke fell into a fitful doze and when she woke, the Arishok was studying her through lazy hooded eyes._

_"You shouldn't exist, Hawke," he said, seeing her eyes open. "It pleases me that you do." He shifted and Hawke slid sideways into the furs and sat up, trying to ignore her spinning head. His horns dipped. "Thank you, Kadan." His voice was so low she barely caught his words._

_A little while later, Hawke stumbled from the Qunari compound, exhausted, sore and aching, under her robe blood and cum sticky on her skin to her knees._

_She had been relieved beyond measure when familiar cramps started a few days after, irrevocable proof that, despite His numerous attempts, the Arishok's seed had not fertilised her._

Hawke never told anyone about her encounter with the Arishok not even after she obliterated him in single combat. His body conquered by magic and her will.

After killing him she had wondered briefly if a child by him would have been such a bad thing. She had seen him glance at her flat belly and a spark of disappointment flare in his eyes as she and Aveline stood before him, trying to persuade him to give up the elves and not wage war on the city. If she had shown signs of swelling with his child, would his response been any different? Capture her right there and then maybe, and still wage war on the city?

Hawke snorted aloud at the thought. Digby twitched and whined in his sleep. It was pointless drawing parallels with the Arishok and Maraas.

The Arishok had coerced her. She hadn't been able to refuse him; he used her shame and desire against her.

Maraas, in contrast, had shared a bottle of wine with her after weeks of holding her hand. His touch had been passionate, but also sweetly reverent as if he couldn't believe that he was allowed to touch her.

Hawke smiled to herself. She had no idea that he felt anything other than friendship towards her. When he had offered her comfort, she had believed he meant just that. So did he, the little voice in her head reminded her, seemingly determined to defend him.

She sat up, throwing the blanket aside and swinging her feet to the floor and stilled as she realised that before the previous night, the Arishok and his Karasten was the last time she had sex. It wasn't her Mother dying, it was Him.

Hawke frowned, momentarily rocked by the revelation, searching her memory. She had been battered, sore and bleeding for days after, not even up to leaving her estate for the first couple.

Fenris had come to visit; she had just bathed for the umpteenth time and was wrapped only in a huge towel. He'd lounged on her bed watching her comb out long chestnut hair and, as she'd turned to tell him to get the hell out of her bedroom so that she could dress, his luminous eyes had widened in horror as they fixed on the perfect, red-purple imprint of sharp Qunari teeth livid against the pale skin of her shoulder.

"_What?" His voice was hoarse as he flowed lithely to his feet, scouring her arms with a raking gaze and seeing the bracelets of bruises properly for the first time._

_Hawke held up a hand. "Fen," she began._

_"That's a Qunari bite. Those bruises are from somebody holding you, very tightly. Hawke?"_

_She felt her eyes prickle with tears at his obvious concern for her. "Don't ask me," she whispered. "I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone."_

_"What other bruises do you have?" The elf asked in a gentle voice._

_"More than a few," Hawke admitted, and to her horror, the tears spilled hotly down her cheeks and she sobbed in Fenris's arms as he had awkwardly held her, murmuring in Tevinter and stroking her hair until the storm passed._

It had been weeks before the bite faded and her shoulder was smooth and unblemished again.

Hawke shuddered, her mind had buried that. So it was the truth, He was the last. Or had been. And Maraas had tricked her. She felt her mouth tighten as her eyes threatened to fill.

A broad wet nose pressed into her arm and Digby whined, infallibly sensing his mistress's mood. She forced a smile.

"You're right," she said, patting the dog's wide head, "I can't stay holed up here moping. Come on."

Hawke decided to head to the Hanged Man early to see if Maraas was there. She had no idea what she would say to him.


	9. Bassrath-Kata

Maraas stared at the pristine parchment for a long while before looking back at the scrawny man unhealthily illuminated in the bright afternoon sun, his pale skin alternately blotchy and pale giving him a curiously pie-bald appearance. He wore noble clothing that threatened to overwhelm his skinny frame, his voice was high, nasally though refined enough, and an acrid smell emanated from his body. Maraas did not like him.

"The staff is currently in the possession of one Marian Hawke."

Maraas felt his jaw clench, the thick vein in his temple begin to throb. "I cannot take this job," he said, abruptly.

"Really Serah? Are you perhaps acquainted with this Hawke?" The voice had turned dangerously sibilant.

Maraas took a deep, calming breath. "I know her," he confirmed.

"Which is precisely why you should take this job. You have an interest in her – ah - survival." A mockingly faked, pained expression crossed the man's face and Maraas realised that the man before him knew how well he and Hawke were acquainted, although the latest development may not have reached his ears.

"Who wants the stave?" Maraas grunted, his fists twitching with the desire to hit something, very hard.

"None of your concern. So, will you take the job?" Suddenly, he was all business. "Or should I find somebody else?"

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A quick glance around the dim bar told Hawke that Maraas was nowhere to be seen. Hawke racked her brains, trying to remember if he had said anything about working this afternoon.

Isabela however, stood lounging against the bar in her usual place. Hawke's eyes narrowed as she stalked over to the pirate, her irritation flaring.

"Drink, Hawke?" Isabela's eyes glittered with mischief.

"I don't think I'll be accepting anything from you again."

The pirate's face fell into a fake pout. "Did you not have a good time?"

"It would have been nice to have known," Hawke hissed. "It would been nice not to have had you two plotting behind my back."

"Aw, sweetie," Isabela rubbed Hawke's arm affectionately, ignoring her bad temper. "Don't be too hard on Maraas. He's so nuts about you, he can barely see straight and you were driving him crazy. " She grinned, her face lighting up. "He was a Qunari, he didn't know what to do."

"Yeah, he said." Hawke's mouth twitched into an unwilling smile. "All right then, you witch. I'll have a pint if you tell me everything. When did he first mention me?"

"I'm forgiven?"

"Stop with the puppy eyes and I'll consider it."

"Is he?" Isabela asked, astutely.

Hawke rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know," she admitted. "It was a shitty thing to do."

"Did he not have any wine then?" There was a careful hint of surprise in the pirate's voice.

"Oh, he drank it too."

"So he was just as helpless as you," Isabela observed and took a long swig of ale to give the comment time to sink in.

That was true. Hawke looked at her friend fondly. Isabela was many things but her heart was in the right place, mostly. Theirs was a bonded gang; they had been working together for years now and a real affection existed between the four of them; dwarf, elf and two female humans.

"So, did you have a good night?" Isabela's elbow found Hawke's ribs and poked.

"It was very nice," Hawke answered, primly.

"Nice?" The pirate's voice rose in pitch.

"All right, it was amazing," Hawke said, and grinned. "It was amazing again this morning."

Isabela's joyous, uninhibited laugh pealed and Hawke had to join in.

Maraas stared in astonishment, his brooding swept away by the unexpected sight of his mage and the pirate standing side by side at the bar, drinks in hand, laughing. His ears burned; were they mocking him? He considered edging around the bar and fleeing to his room, hoping that they didn't notice him but Maraas was not a coward. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and walked over to the giggling women, his heart beginning to thud erratically in his chest.

"Hawke." He said her name softly and watched her back stiffen. He knew he had to quickly move them past any awkward moment and get to the important, he suspected that he didn't have the social skills to accomplish it. He snorted to himself; he was a blunt weapon. "Isabela," he added, acknowledging the pirate's presence.

Hawke turned slowly and her fierce green eyes momentarily stunned him. He swallowed and shook his head, slightly dazed. "I know we have much to discuss," he addressed his comment to a safe space between the two women, "but something has happened and we need to talk about that more. Somewhere private." He considered a moment. "The dwarf and the elf might want to listen in."

Maraas had walked slowly back to the Hanged Man trying to come up with a plan, something he could present to Hawke but other than the obvious of giving up her staff and then killing everyone to retrieve it, he was out of inspiration. It didn't help that his mind refused to wholly cooperate, skittering off to memories of the night before and the fact that Hawke may not even be talking to him.

"Okay Qunari,"

"Kossith," Hawke corrected, absently.

Varric threw a scowl at her and continued. "Whatever. What's this about?"

Maraas glanced at the door to make sure that it was firmly closed and looked around the table, his eyes settling on Hawke. "I had to accept a job today that I thought I should tell you all about," he began, his mind racing. "Do you know what that is?" He gestured at the burnished steel staff strapped in its usual place on Hawke's back.

"A stave," the elf grunted, unhelpfully.

"Bassrath-Kata," Hawke supplied, already scowling.

Maraas nodded. "The Qunari believe that the tool of a life's purpose retain a small portion of the owners soul on death. How much is fiercely debated." His tone was dry. "It's difficult to explain but put simply, a stave that has passed through the hands of many mages is believed to be much more powerful than a newly-crafted one being used for the first time. For a staff to be Bassrath-Kata, it has had seven previous owners, or more, and outlasted them all."

"Is it true about the soul?" Varric asked, fascinated.

Maraas shrugged. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that is what they believe. Somebody wants Hawke's staff." He watched her face intently; there might have been no one else in the room.

Her brow furrowed into a deep frown. "Why? Did I not gain it fairly?"

"You must have fulfilled the conditions exactly. There is no other way."

"Why did you take the job?" The elf's sudden question was gruffly challenging.

Maraas looked at him, impatiently. "If I hadn't, somebody else would have. Whoever offered the job knew that I know Hawke, that I would likely have an interest in her remaining alive and unhurt."

"Better the devil you know," Isabela chimed in cheerfully. "The important question is what are we going to do?"

Maraas looked at the pirate, gratefully. "I admit that I have only come up with the very obvious solution."

"No." Hawke had shifted the staff to the side of her body and was cradling it protectively in the crook of her arm. Bassrath-Kata was hers; she had never had a weapon that fitted so perfectly to her hands, that seemed almost alive and eager to do her bidding.

"Plan B then," the elf murmured dryly, and Maraas felt his lips twitch. The elf – Fenris - was okay.

"Can we get one that looks the same? Or similar enough? If the person you have to deliver the staff to then has to pass it on, they won't know. Five foot, red steel, blah, blah." Isabela said, waving her hands airily.

"But the one who is paying money to get their hands on the staff would presumably know it to be fake and then Hawke might find herself fair game." Fenris rumbled.

"We could track it. Find out who is behind this, kill them and get their stuff." Isabela's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

"Who would want a Qunari staff?" Varric's voice was thoughtful. "Other than a Qunari, I mean."

"Tevinters?" Fenris's voice was always a surprise; it was so huge compared to the slender elf.

"Maybe, but more likely Qunari," Maraas grunted, the idea making him distinctly uneasy.

"I gained the staff fairly, presumably fulfilling some requirement of the Qun," Hawke said, her face creased in thought. "Do you know what the conditions were?" Her eyes found his and his breath caught.

"Taarbas was sent to gather the blades." Maraas gathered himself. "To invoke Bassrath-Kata, he must have failed to find enough in the time allocated to satisfy his duty to the Qun. How many did you find, Hawke?"

"Ten."

"After three years, that is remarkable." Something in his chest eased slightly at her quick smile and he forced himself to look around at the others. "Hawke isn't Qunari. There maybe some under the Qun who object to a Bas-Saarebas having such a precious Qunari tool."

"Bas..." Isabela began enquiringly.

"Foreign dangerous thing," Hawke said, flatly, and missed the surprise that flickered across Maraas's face.

"We should find a staff that looks similar, one that we can use for the trade," Varric cut in, smoothly covering the awkward moment that ensued.

"I think I have something at home." She looked at Maraas. "Arrange the meeting to hand it over and we'll see who is behind is." Hawke's mood was evident in her tone and it made Maraas wince.


	10. When It All Goes Wrong

With a low groan, Hawke twisted out of the archer's line and threw herself onto the ground beside Maraas's prone, unconscious body. She cast barrier - it would give her the time to work but was a foolish use of the spell - and slid her arm under his head.

"Revive," she murmured, flooding his body with magic, and held a potion to his lips when his eyes fluttered and opened. Relief flooded her body as the Kossith flowed to his feet and, sweeping his huge axe from the floor, threw her a quick grin of thanks before setting about hacking into the backs of unwary Qunari who had thought him dead.

"Hawke, get back over here," Varric shouted.

Hawke rose, scanning the warehouse; Fenris was fine, effortlessly swinging his huge sword, cleaving through the muscled bodies with abandon, Varric was well-positioned away from any sudden melee attack methodically turning archers into screaming balls of flame while looking for rogues to pin, and Isabela flickered in and out of stealth, wreaking havoc with her poisoned blades.

Hawke's eyes narrowed; where was the Qunari with the mad, crimson eyes? The one who had screamed in pain and outrage when the staff placed into his greedy hands had not been Bassrath-Kata.

Hawke carefully skirted flying blades and whirling bodies. With healing aura warmly embracing her and her friends, she was weak. She did need to be closer to Varric; she had irresponsibly risked her frail body when she dashed across warehouse to the fallen Kossith.

Hawke felt a minute disturbance in the air and red-painted arms suddenly seized her from behind, trapping her arms tight beside her body, lifting her easily off the ground and moving quickly back towards the rickety, wooden stairs that led up to one of the storage rooms.

Hawke struggled wildly, trying to kick at sensitive shins, but the arms just tightened around her, threatening to crush her ribs. She heard Maraas roar as his eyes found her struggling form and then snarl in pain as the momentary distraction cost him a slash across his bicep that began to bleed freely in a bright red trail that ran thickly down his arm to drip from his hand.

Hawke's breath escaped her body in a rush as she was spun and pinned to the rough wooden door, one hand nearly encircled her neck, the other held her wrists in a punishing grip.

"Where is the staff?" A surprisingly measured voice asked.

"Not here," Hawke gasped, the fingers were squeezing, cutting off her air supply.

"A pity. Ah well." The body was suddenly pressed insinuatingly against hers. "I have what I came for and your friends will bring the staff."

A damp, unpleasant smelling rag was clamped over her mouth. Hawke squirmed, trying not to breathe, her lungs threatened to explode before she had to take a breath and something thick and cloying invaded her mouth and nose and then, nothing.

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"Where is she?" Maraas screamed, his eyes livid in his furious face, his rage utterly preventing rational thought.

Varric took a hasty step back, nearly stumbling over one of the many bodies that littered the warehouse floor. "I don't know. Isabela?" he called.

"Not here." The pirate had finished her examination of every corpse, everything valuable had been almost unconsciously stowed about her person to be examined and divvied out later.

Fenris loped up the stairs and into the storage room. He sniffed at the air, his nose wrinkling at the faint, sweet smell that lingered by the door.

"Isabela!" he called, his tone urgent. "What is that smell?" he demanded when the pirate sauntered into the room followed closely by Varric.

Isabela lifted her face. "Knock-out drops," she said, confidently after a moment.

"Any sign down there of the Qunari with the red eyes?" Fenris's eyes were fierce.

"No. You think?"

"You think what?" Maraas rumbled from the doorway, his face still distorted in anger.

"I think Hawke has been taken, by the red-eyed one, the one who wanted the staff," Fenris said. "Or maybe he didn't, maybe he just wanted Hawke."

Maraas was unable to suppress the shudder that shook his entire body and rocked him on his feet as he recalled Hawke being carried away. "You are right. I saw …" his voice trailed off helplessly.

"We should get out of here, see if anyone saw a Qunari carrying an unconscious woman." Varric shrugged. "You never know. That might be unusual enough that people remember."

"All right. We get your point," Fenris growled angrily, stalking towards the door and throwing it open.

They stood blinking in the bright light and looked about.

"It's a pity she wasn't bleeding," Isabela murmured, "there might have been a trail." She barely noticed the Kossith's angry snarl as she started towards the nearest man, smiling widely.

"Could you help us," she began.

Taarbas stepped carefully over the bodies, his eyes scanning the shadows of the warehouse. The dead were mostly Qunari, the few humans he didn't recognise. He saw a stave discarded in the dust and picked it up: it was red steel, not dissimilar to Bassrath-Kata. He scowled to himself; there was something about this that bothered him. It wasn't in the Qun to double-cross or renege on a deal; that was dishonourable. He needed to find Maraas and find out what was going on.

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Hawke's mind swam lazily towards cognitive thought; cloth was bound tightly about her eyes, she was laying face down on something soft, fur tickling at her skin. Her skin. Ah. Unless this was her own bed, this couldn't be good. As her bed wasn't covered in thick, luxurious furs, it wasn't good. She mentally added her arms stretched over her head, her wrists tightly bound. Naked and tied up, she concluded but not gagged and her legs seemed to be free. She felt the bed shift beside her and fingers trace her spine, he had been there all along, she realised, silently lying next to her.

"You will pay," a voice crooned. "You will pay for what you did to Him."

"Are you somebody I should know?" Hawke asked, her tone steady, but her voice was weak. The fingers tensed in surprise.

"I didn't know you were awake, Hawke."

Her mind raced, she didn't recognise the voice but the arms that had grabbed her had been Qunari arms. The only Qunari she knew was dead. Not true, her mind insisted, and she was below the Compound again, her neck twisted so that she could look up over her shoulder at the Arishok and his Karasten, staring into each others eyes, as they both fucked her, yellow and crimson. "Karasten," she murmured, her tongue felt thick and cottony.

"You do remember me." A wet line trailed down her back and Hawke felt him move to straddle her thighs.

"I don't understand. Why?"

"You killed him." His mouth was close to her ear, a fist wound into her hair. "I was there. I saw my Arishok cut down by a Bas-Saarebas," his voice dripped with venom and beneath that, pain, so much pain.

"He chose that fight. He could have just walked away." Despite her position, Hawke's anger stirred. His decision had always infuriated her, it was so stupid, but required by the Qun apparently and who was she to argue with that.

"You dare criticise him?" Her hair pulled painfully as her head was jerked up.

"I didn't want to kill him. He gave me no choice."

"You should have died." It was a broken wail as the last shreds of sanity fled. "They held me back, they wouldn't let me save him." Hawke felt his tears on her back as he rested his broad forehead between her shoulder blades.

"Is that why you're doing this? Why you set the whole thing up? You never wanted the staff?"

"I'll take the staff, it doesn't belong in your hands."

"You're wrong, but you wouldn't understand," Hawke whispered, thinking longingly of her stave. She held her breath as his hands roamed along her bare sides and his head lifted off her back.

"You dare claim ownership," he growled, his knee moving into the tender line of her thigh and pushed sharply, forcing her legs apart. He moved between them and curled over her body, his mouth near her ear. "You are bold. That's what He liked about you. Your courage." His hips began to move against her ass, Hawke could feel him hardening through his breeches. "I like you quiet," he murmured into her hair and the rag was clamped over her mouth once more.

Karasten waited until her delicious struggling grew feeble, and she had to take a deep, choking breath, drawing the sickly vapour into her lungs and she stilled almost instantly, and then rolled off her body. He had no interest in taking her while she was unconscious but it didn't hurt for her to think otherwise.

He climbed the ladder, throwing open the trapdoor that led up into an unremarkable house in Lowtown, and carefully straightened the rug over the entrance to his Sanctuary. It had taken him a while but he had painstakingly recreated His bedroom, a place he had been to just once.


	11. Seeing Red

_Karasten stared at his general and quickly moved his face before his lips, his heart racing erratically as he breathed a musky, male scent._

_ "If that bell rings, you will come," the Arishok said, his eyes flicking to the brass bell, the pull of which was deep below ground in his quarters. "Alone. Undress in the office. Do you understand?" His voice was barely a murmur but somehow strained._

_ Karasten nodded once and moved back, watching in horror as the skinny little human female followed into Him the tunnels beneath the compound. He was in rut, they all knew, they could smell it on him, the dominance. _

_ In Par Vollen, the Tamrassan would select females most suited to bearing the Arishok's child and he would mate with them all until his erection subsided. Here, in this pustule of a city, he was reduced to a single bas bitch. _

_ Karasten shuddered, the Arishok would send for him though, to help him through the ordeal. He spent the day fantasizing about his general, trying not to think about the fact that the bell hadn't rung._

_ And nor did it ring that night, or the following day._

_ "She must have something," a Karashok had grunted and he had glared at him, his fists twitching with the urge to break something._

_ The bell rang, nearly two days after the Arishok had disappeared into his quarters._

_ The sight of Him stretched out on his furs, his cock hard and throbbing, nearly took his legs from under him. He was struck dumb and trembling as He waved a careless hand over the limp, white body beside him._

_ "She is exhausted, and I am not done. See if your special talent can make her wet and hot for me again."_

_ Karasten's world crumbled; there was a loud whooshing roar in his ears as his general placed a careful hand on her back and jutted his jaw towards her body._

_ "Please her," He ordered and Karasten knelt over her, sweeping his tongue across her back and heard her suddenly muffled protest as he worked down, his eyes closed against anguished tears, his mind filling with a different version of events._

_ "Now." He had almost jumped at the growled command, his eyes flying open, and helped lift the moaning, writhing woman onto the Arishok whose eyelids fluttered shut, briefly lost in the pleasure of being within her. _

_ "Finish what you started, Karasten," the Arishok murmured. "I think she'd enjoy it."_

_ Her feigned protest again as He clasped her to his chest and Karasten had looked into his general's eyes as he pushed hard into her and felt Him through the thin membrane, throbbing inside her. He gasped and began to fuck her, his cock rubbing His until the Arishok grunted and his hips began to move in harmony with his and, staring into each others eyes, they came; he hardly heard the panting screams of the woman sandwiched between them. It had been the most incredible experience of his life._

_ Karasten tuned out their brief conversations after he heard Him apologising, to her: it was obvious that He was fond of the bas bitch._

_ It was many hours later, he had been inside her body more times than he cared to count, thrilling each time because he could feel Him also within her, when He finally waved a hand in dismissal and gathered the bas bitch tenderly onto his chest, his arms tightening possessively about her as his lips brushed her hair. _

_ Karasten lurched through the doorway into the outer office. The Arishok was talking to her in gentle tones. Karasten felt tears threaten again._

_ Three months later, he'd watched as she had murdered Him, her face screwed up in concentration as she flung a spell that hit Him square in the chest, rocketing Him onto his back and she had made a sharp twisting gesture that stopped his heart in a violent explosion of scarlet._

Karasten wiped the tears that flowed down his cheeks with the backs on his hands; she was his. And once he had the staff, she would die, but not yet. It had been nearly two days before the Arishok had called him, and he didn't want touch her before then.

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Isabela shrugged helplessly and looked around; the filthy alley was deserted, the few doors were locked. "Shit, we've run out of people to ask. Do we carry on down here?"

"Maybe if we spread out," Fenris offered.

"Unwise," Maraas rumbled.

"I'm glad you said that." Varric grinned, tightly. He was beginning to like the Kossith.

"There was someone." Isabela dashed off, forcing the others to follow. She had seen a shadow lingering that had taken off as soon as she spotted it. She rounded the corner into an almost identical alley and flickered into stealth as she saw what was, unmistakably a Qunari moving swiftly in the shadows, looking around carefully and slip into a battered, pale blue door. Isabela eased back around the corner.

"What the ...?" Fenris was panting when he caught up.

"A Qunari just disappeared into a door round there." Isabela pointed.

"Qunari or ..."

"Qunari. I do know the difference," she snapped at the gleam in Varric's eye. "I think it was the one from the warehouse."

"Let's go see," Maraas grunted and strode towards the door.

"Wait. Don't we need a plan?" Isabela was bouncing around him like an excited puppy. He stopped and looked down into her face. "If Hawke is in there."

"She might be, but the door is warded." A voice a few feet from them made both of their heads swivel.

"Taarbas," Maraas rumbled without any apparent surprise.

"Kara.."

"Not any more. I am Maraas."

Taarbas's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Still the sense of humour, Kadan."

"Wait. You two know each other?" Varric was suddenly enthralled.

"I thought I did," Taarbas answered, shortly. He motioned them back into the shadows and out of view of the door. "Where is Bassrath-Kata?" he asked.

"Hidden," Maraas grunted. "Do you who know is behind this?"

"Maybe." Taarbas looked into Maraas's face. "Tell me what's happened."

As Maraas explained, the Qunari's face settled into harsh lines of disapproval. "Hawke gained that staff, proved herself worthy to wield it but you must retrieve it."

"She made me promise that I wouldn't do that," Maraas grumbled, his heart sinking.

"Is it more valuable than her life? It's the only thing that will get us near her now."

Isabela studied the miserable Kossith, her generous heart swelling. "She didn't make me promise, or Fen."

"But only I know where it is."

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Maraas found that he was audibly grumbling to himself as he strode along the familiar cliff path. He hated this, hated that he would be breaking his promise to her but he knew that Taarbas was right. The staff and he would be the bait that would hopefully enable her rescue.

He'd left Kirkwall in the eerie light of false dawn after a few restless hours sleep. Hawke had been missing since the previous afternoon.

The sun was rising proper as he approached the sheltered spot where they had so often made camp and he shuddered as he remembered the last time they had been there; the feeling of her body under his.

Suddenly, he could smell honey and mint as a light, delicate fragrance tickled at his nostrils. He stopped abruptly, his eyes scanning the sandy dirt at the edge of the path. In a crevice between two rocks, a pale lilac, lop-sided flower shyly bloomed. Maraas knelt to look at it more closely; sure that this was the plant that they had spent so many mornings searching for. There was an irony in finding it this morning of all mornings when he was about to break faith with her once again that was not lost on him.

She hadn't, he realised, ever told him which part of the plant she needed so he carefully uprooted the whole thing and tucked it into his pack before continuing on to retrieve Bassrath-Kata.


	12. Rescue

Taarbas studied his old friend intently. "You know what you must do?"

Maraas nodded shortly. He didn't like it. The plan was a simple one involving just he and Taarbas. He would take the staff and break the ward on the door; the ward that was geared towards Bassrath-Kata. Taarbas would follow. The others were under instruction to watch the house but stay out and they had grumblingly agreed with the proviso that they would come in after an agreed length of time had passed.

After a brief, fierce argument, Fenris had drawn his sword and slashed a line in the dirt at their feet about three inches from the encroaching sunlight. "We will enter the house when the sun hits that line," he growled. "You had best get moving."

Maraas loped swiftly across the alley to the pale blue door. Hawke had to be in there. He tried it gently, it was locked. He turned and waved Varric over, the dwarf was a master, a flimsy lock should present little problem. Varric gave him a tight grin as the lock gave with an audible click and the door swung open. Maraas slipped inside as the dwarf scuttled off into the shadows once more.

He looked everywhere and Hawke wasn't anywhere in the small house. Taarbas had to be wrong. Maraas scowled and reached down to straighten a small rug strangely placed in the corner of one of the squalid bedrooms. A tiny draft brushed his fingers; he flipped the rug back to reveal a trapdoor, which opened smoothly when he lifted it. He peered into silent unrelieved darkness and carefully climbed down the ladder, closing the trapdoor over his head. He was fumbling for his tinderbox when there was a movement behind him and a sudden ringing blow on the crown of his head on the tenderest part of his skull, he yelped in pain, felt himself collapsing and then, nothing.

Karasten heard the intruder crumple to the floor and sheathed his dagger. He re-lit the candle that had been hastily snuffed out when the warning charm that had announced the Staffs presence had broken with a soft chime, and took Bassrath-Kata from the strap on the Kossith's back with suddenly shaking hands.

The staff was disappointingly lifeless in his grasp but it was nearly time. He would kill the Bas-Saarebas bitch and Bassrath-Kata would gain another soul.

He turned his attention to the unconscious woman, naked and bound on the huge bed.

When he ran his hand down her back, her skin was icy, her breathing shallow and slow.

Humming softly to himself, Karasten moved quickly lighting candles until the cellar was illuminated in a dancing glow. He laid the stave carefully along the left side of her body, closest to her heart, where it almost seemed to nestle, casting blood red shadows on the whiteness of her skin, before returning to check on the Kossith. He was still unconscious but Karasten bound his hands firmly behind his back anyway. It wouldn't do to be disturbed now.

Something stirred deep in Hawke's brain awoken by the sudden, thrumming connection to power. "Wake up." The voice was insistent, cutting through the darkness, a tiny spur she could grab onto. "Wake up or you will die."

Hawke forced herself to semi-awareness; she was still bound and so cold. Something incoherent fell from her lips, she didn't even know what she was trying to say but it drew Karasten's attention, the heat of his body was suddenly close to hers. Even though it was his warmth, she was grateful for it.

"Cold," she mumbled.

"Not for very much longer. It will be over soon," Karasten crooned, his warmth settled over her as his body fitted to hers.

He was naked, she realised. Of course he was. There was no way this was going to end well. She couldn't see it going anywhere other than her being raped and murdered in a cellar. Her face screwed up in disgust as she felt his tongue on her back, sweeping lower and lower, his big hands easily spreading her thighs before he repositioned himself between them and his hands found her hips and there was hot breath on her lower back.

The thrum of magic became more insistent, her skin almost burned where Bassrath-Kata touched her and Hawke felt power being pushed into her body. She frowned, completely distracted for a moment, the staff was trying to help her? That was insane. She was insane for thinking it but she couldn't deny the steady trickle of power seeping into her body. She took as deep a breath as she could from under the almost overwhelming press of the poison in her system and tried to concentrate on gathering the power into something she could use, aware that if she could somehow get him off her, she was still bound and barely conscious, cut off from her own magic.

Hawke's eyes filled with angry tears as she felt his tongue describe wet circles on her ass before his hands roughly parted her buttocks. "Ngggh." Hawke wanted to scream, the power inside her was straining to escape her body, she felt his tongue licking and teasing at her and something snapped. "NO!"

The magic burst from every pore, throwing Karasten off her body and clear across the cellar where he crashed into the stone wall with a loud grunt, sending candles flying in graceful arcs before they rolled haphazardly across the stone floor.

Hawke felt the air shift as something fresher briefly filtered in, a moments pause and the unmistakable thunk thunk of crossbow bolts hitting flesh before she passed out into welcome unconsciousness again, the staff humming contentedly against her skin.

Karasten stared with wide, horror-stricken eyes at Taarbas and then down at his own body, trying to make sense of the two black bolts embedded deep in his chest. His legs crumpled as Taarbas strode towards him, dagger in hand.

"You have disgraced yourself, Karasten. She was found worthy under the Qun."

In a swift, economical movement, Taarbas jerked the Karasten's head up and drew his blade hard against his throat, severing the windpipe, grimacing at the gush of blood over his hand. He pushed the dying Qunari aside and quickly scanned the cellar; the woman was as still as death but Maraas was starting to stir. He moved quickly to his side, slicing through the leather binding his wrists and standing back as the Kossith regained consciousness.

Maraas pushed himself groggily to his feet; the Karasten's body lay on the stone floor, two crossbow bolts sunk deep into his chest, blood flowing from a savage gash across his throat to pool in a grisly frame around his head and chest.

He barely noticed Taarbas's still, silent form as his eyes fell on Hawke's body, bound, gagged and unmoving. He let out a strangled cry as he scrambled onto the bed, his fingers pressing to her neck. His shoulders sagged in relief as he felt a weak, fluttering pulse under icy skin.

"We must get her to her house,"" he said hoarsely as he carefully pulled the furs over her cold, nude body and untied the blindfold. He glanced over his shoulder at Taarbas and, not knowing what to say, turned his attention to the ties binding her wrists until her hands were freezing in his and he could roll her carefully onto her back, brushing the hair from her face with trembling fingers. Her beautiful eyes were closed in a too pale face.

"She is your woman?" Taarbas's voice was softly confused.

Maraas shrugged. "I hope so." He felt strong fingers squeeze his shoulder.

"A strange answer."

"I made a mistake. I do not know yet if she will forgive me for it."

"Why her? A Saarebas?"

"She's not Saarebas, she's Hawke," Maraas replied, a gentle smile curving his mouth. "The first time I met her, she was so alive, so full of purpose, and she was dazzling". His eyes clouded. "I was frightened of her, of her obvious power. The second time I saw her, I didn't realise it was her. I just saw the staff in the hands of a bas. I challenged her and she looked at me with dead eyes, and the staff didn't matter. I couldn't believe that it was the same woman." Maraas drew a ragged breath; he was amazed that this was spilling from him but unable to stop himself now. Taarbas's hand was still firm on his shoulder as he continued. "We spoke a while and she left. I followed and watched her fight off half a dozen men before one of them got lucky and shoved her over. All the time, I could tell that she didn't care, that she danced with death willingly and if death took her, so be it." Maraas gently stroked her pale shoulder and tucked the fur closer to her. "And I watched her change again as we spent time together and spoke about life, death, the world, anything and everything. Life came back into her and I realised, with help, that I loved her. I wanted to protect her and never see the light go out of her eyes again."

"Why did you abandon the Qun?" Taarbas's voice was harsh, almost hurt.

Maraas reluctantly tore his eyes from her face and looked up at his former friend. "It wasn't enough," he whispered. "It was never enough."

"And you think she is enough?"

"I hope so," Maraas replied, his eyes returning to her.

"I should kill you."

"I know," Maraas couldn't bring himself to look away from her again though he knew he probably should, "but I am not Tal-Vashoth and I have no argument with the Qunari. I couldn't exist in a life that held only certainty. After leaving the Qun, I couldn't rob and murder because I had failed to grasp what a life of freedom meant. We might have been killed had you not been here. Did you save my life only to take it now?"

Taarbas's answer was lost in the sudden crash of the trapdoor being flung open and Fenris's lithe form noisily descending the ladder. He quickly took in the scene.

"Is Hawke all right?" he demanded, his eyes settling on the still form swaddled in furs.

"She's alive. We need to get her home. Can you get the healer? Get him to come to Hawke's house as soon as he can?"

"Of course." He was gone again and Maraas heard urgent voices in the room above, a door slamming and then silence.

"Will you help me get her out of here?" he asked and heard Taarbas's muffled snort of amusement.

"Before I kill you, Kadan?"

"Please? I would know she was safe."

"Pick her up, she'll have to go over your shoulder if you're going to get up that ladder." Taarbas's voice was brisk, all trace of amusement gone.

As Maraas started to gently gather the unconscious woman into his arms, she let out a low groan, her eyes flew open as she began to struggle weakly in the furs that were tightly wrapped about her body.

"Marian, it's me, Maraas." The Kossith bent his head to hers, murmuring in low reassuring tones until her thrashing ceased and her frantic, wet eyes found his.

"Maraas? What happened? Where is Karasten?" Her voice was a whisper as she relaxed in his arms.

"Dead. You're safe, Marian. We're going to take you home."

Her confused gaze wandered to the silent Qunari stood behind Maraas. "Taarbas? What are you doing here?"

"Later, Hawke."


	13. Between the Dialogue, Lovers Run

SMUT WARNING

"You were lucky." The healer's voice was cool and Hawke fought not to shiver with obvious revulsion when she felt his warm, moist palm on her cheeks and forehead. "He was using too much of the potion, it was making your heart dangerously sluggish, your blood too slow. I've purged it from your system but it will still be a while before your core temperature comes up to normal. A hot bath would help."

He – Anders, she forced herself to think - stepped away from the bed. "The mighty Hawke kidnapped and held prisoner."

An unpleasant smirk twisted his mouth and his mocking tone reminded her of her brother. "It happens to the best of us," she murmured, sleepily.

"Don't close your eyes, Hawke, you need to stay awake." He went to the door and spoke in low urgent tones.

Seconds later, Hawke was scooped up, sheet and all, into hard, warm arms and cradled against a startlingly familiar, bare chest.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a bath ready. You should get in it before it gets cold."

At Maraas's comforting rumble, Hawke relaxed in his hold and let her eyes slide shut. She let out a yelp of protest when she was lowered, still wrapped in her sheet, into water that felt perilously hot to her chilled body.

Maraas's strong hands unwound the sheet and, with a wet splat, it landed on the floor. "You are too cold," he grunted, studying her uncoordinated body intently for a moment. Without bothering to remove his breeches, he stepped into the tub behind her and sat down, shoulder deep in the steaming water, drawing her unresisting body with his so that she ended up sitting between his thighs, his broad arms wrapped about her body, immersed up to her chin.

Hawke sighed in contentment as she felt the delicious heat of the hot water spread across her skin like a balm and sink into her bones. She had wondered if she would ever be warm again during the hours she had spent in that cellar, naked and freezing. She let herself relax completely and melt into the hard chest at her back. She was safe now and beginning to feel warm, more alert.

"I was terrified we would be too late," Maraas whispered, breaking a long silence. "Did he …?"

Hawke shook her head. "No, he didn't get that far." The arms around her tightened painfully for a brief moment and she felt the whisper of lips on her hair. "Thank you for finding me," she added, softly.

"Any time," he said, unable to say any more.

When Maraas was sure she was warm, he stood up, smoothly sweeping her into his arms, as he stepped out of the tub and set her on unsteady feet. He wrapped her in a towel that covered her from chest to ankle and hoisted her into his arms again.

"I could walk," she protested, mildly, and smiled as the Kossith muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'I don't care' and strode through her house, leaving a trail of dripping water from his sopping breeches with her still cradled tenderly against his huge chest.

"Take off those wet things and hang them over there to dry," Hawke ordered as Maraas carried her into her room and deposited her on her bed. She swiftly dried herself and slid under the heavy covers, the cotton sheets were cool against her skin but it didn't matter; She was finally warm.

Maraas had peeled off his breeches and set them carefully over the back of a chair. They had little chance of drying before morning.

Hawke watched the play of muscle under his skin as he finally turned and walked back towards the bed; his naked body was all contoured definition, his cock hung down his thigh, impressive even when flaccid. She shivered slightly; she definitely had a thing about Kossiths. Well, this one anyway.

Maraas took her hand gently in his two huge ones as he sat carefully on the edge of her bed, angling his leg to cover himself, and looked into her still too pale face. "When I saw you being taken, my mind filled with such a rage, I couldn't think." His lips pulled downward. "When the rage subsided, there was a fear left inside me that I have never felt before, never want to feel again." Hawke's forehead wrinkled into a frown. "I know I should never have gone behind your back, that I shouldn't have pushed you," Maraas rushed on before she could speak and ruin it. "It was stupid, but I didn't know what to do, and I had to do something. Please forgive me," he finished, ducking his head.

"Why?"

Maraas's shoulders stiffened. He hadn't expected such a harsh response. He felt her gently insistent fingers under his chin until he lifted his face to hers once more.

"I mean why should I forgive you when you haven't said what else you want from me." Her green eyes were strangely challenging.

He stared at her, confused and feeling adrift. "I don't understand."

Hawke sighed impatiently as she realised that he was telling the truth. "If I forgive you, what will you do then? What do you want to do then?"

He looked searchingly into her face for a long moment. "If you forgave me," his voice was slow, uncertain, "I think I would like to climb into this bed beside you and hold you until we both fall asleep." He was encouraged by the small smile that curved her lips.

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I would spend with you. And the day after that, if you let me."

"Hmm, I see." Her voice was tinged with something he didn't understand, the challenge in her eyes had melted into a glint. Then her face broke into a smile and she flipped the covers back beside her. "Get in."

"I am forgiven?" He gently released her hand and uncoiled.

"Maybe."

"You are teasing me. Why?" He reached his goal and slid into the wide bed, shifting across until the line of his body met hers and something inside him melted in relief.

Hawke turned her head, eyes shining. "I may give you a bit of a hard time but you're forgiven. You were the second I woke up and realised that it was you holding me and not that mad bastard." She rolled onto her side, tucking her body into the contour of his, her arm slid across his chest and she sighed as Maraas curled his arm about her body, and laid her cheek on his shoulder. "So, you would spend tomorrow with me, what about tomorrow night?" she asked, her voice light.

"Hawke, if you wish me to be here then here is where I will be. For as long as you want me beside you. I could be your bodyguard. You certainly need one."

His breath stirred her hair sending a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with being cold. Her fingers began to idly trace gentle circles on his chest and she felt him shudder slightly under her touch and a hand capture hers.

"You need to sleep," he chided, gently, his fingers entwining with hers. A throaty chuckle trickled from his lips. "I did understand that though."

Hawke laughed softly against his chest. "If you're going to spend nights with me, there are things to do,"

"Yes, but not tonight. Sleep, woman," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

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Hawke moaned as her body twisted, caught in a vivid dream of muscular arms wrapped around her thighs, a tongue delicately teasing with whispering caresses that slowly became more urgently insistent until she was writhing.

"Oh." Hawke's eyes flew open as her back bowed against the sweet, steady pressure between her legs. When she subsided into the mattress again, she looked down the line of her body into Maraas's eyes, quivering when he deliberately licked the line of her sex and drew back, pulling a groan of discontent from her throat.

"Is this all right?" he asked and she felt his hot breath on her.

"Don't stop," she moaned, arching as his tongue plunged into her and busy fingers found her clitoris and began to circle and tease the hard little nub until Hawke thought she would explode. The muscles in her thighs started to tremble, straining wider as an intense ache began to build deep within in her. Her breath came in gasping pants turning to a long wail as the skilful fingers and tongue pushed her over the edge into bone-shattering, brain-exploding pleasure.

Maraas's body was suddenly heavy on hers, pinning her, and she felt the head of his cock blindly nuzzling at her. She angled her hips up, heard him grunt in relief as he found her entrance and pushed slowly into her hot, still-convulsing depths until he was completely buried within her and he let out a long, shuddering sigh, stilling for a long moment before his arms snaked under her body pressing her close to him as his hips began to move, thrusting him into her in firm, steady strokes and she thought she might die, it felt so good.

Maraas closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the need for completion that was threatening to crash over him, he didn't want it to end yet. He wanted the woman in his arms to scream for him again, he wanted to feel her insides constrict, molten, around his cock.

Her legs lifting and encircling his waist, forcing him even deeper into her nearly undid his control, he felt the tell-tale trembling begin in her thighs and increased his pace, losing his careful rhythm as he heard her cry out and she was writhing under him, whimpering, as he pounded into her until his world splintered and flew apart and he was comprised only of the intense pleasure that roared through his body and overflowed, spilling into hers.

They remained still for a long while, breathing slowly returning to normal, still locked together before Maraas reluctantly withdrew from her and rolled onto his side, his arm immediately finding her waist and drawing her closer. He leant over her, his mouth finding hers in a gentle kiss.

"Good morning," he said, a small smile curving his lips as he drew back to look at her face. "Is that an acceptable way to be awoken?"

Hawke grinned. "It's a good start to the day." Her hand roamed across his taut chest, stilling as an urgent knock sounded on the door.

"Mistress?" The knocking sounded again. "Mistress! There is somebody here to see Maraas."

Maraas's brow drew into a frown as he untangled himself from Hawke's body and rolled out of bed. He grabbed his mostly dry breeches off the back of the chair.

"I'll be right there, Orana."


	14. Harlot's Blush

After Marian watched the Kossith's muscled back disappear out into the hallway, she snuggled back down into the pillows.

She was on the verge of dozing off when she became aware of the lack of … anything. Voices carried up from the hall but there was nothing to hear. Curious about the visitor, Hawke slipped out of the wide bed and quickly shrugged her robe over her naked body. Taking a deep breath, she eased the bedroom door open and crept forward until she could peer through the balustrade. Her heart leapt into her mouth even as she was summoning her killing spell.

Maraas was knelt in front of Taarbas, the point of a slim blade pressed into his throat.

"I ask you again," Taarbas's voice was barely above a whisper, "will you return with me?"

Very deliberately, Maraas shook his head. The blade pierced his skin and a thin trickle of blood ran down towards his collarbone.

Taarbas's eyes briefly closed, disappointment etched clearly across his features. "You leave me no choice."

"There is always a choice." Marian's voice rang out strongly as she rose to her feet, her hand pulsating with light as she prepared to throw the spell at Taarbas.

"Marian. No." Maraas said, his eyes still fixed on the face of his former friend.

"I will not lose anyone else!" she screamed expelling the spell from her fingertips. The ball of fire hove towards Taarbas who threw himself backwards, landing with a thud sprawling on the wooden floor, the blade skittering from his hand. His eyes were wide as the fireball impacted, leaving a blackened circle as it died away.

Marian stalked down the stairs, energy lighting her hand once more.

"Marian," Maraas said as he scrambled to his feet. "Please."

"He was going to kill you. After everything, do you still hold your life so cheaply?"

"He knows only the way of the Qun."

"That's no excuse!" Marian yelled at him. "Maraas, stop defending him. You can't go around killing people just because they decide to leave your religion or cult, or whatever you want to call it. That isn't right."

"Marian, I .."

"Why did the Karasten take you?" Taarbas cut in, hauling himself to his feet. "It wasn't just the staff."

Hawke's lips twisted into a bitter smile, her eyes still flashing with anger. "He didn't like me very much. In fact, I'd go as far to say that he hated my guts."

"Because you killed the Arishok?"

"Yes." Her mouth formed a cold, hard line.

"Is that all, Hawke?" Taarbas's eyes narrowed. "We knew that Karasten was a twisted one. Sometimes even the Qun cannot prevail but we were hopeful."

Maraas glanced between Marian and towering Qunari and something clicked into place in his brain as he remembered Hawke's strange question that one night camping, saw the spark of anger, a small touch of guilt and shame in her eyes.

"The Arishok went into rut while in Kirkwall," Maraas said and watched her eyes widen in surprised horror, her anger dissipating. "He chose Hawke."

"How did you know?" she whispered.

"I didn't until just then. I'm sorry. I don't imagine you had a lot of say in it. He would have considered it your duty, and an honour."

"He did." She shivered, remembering his hands pulling at her bodice, ripping her underwear from her body.

"How was the Karasten involved?" Taarbas asked.

"Why do you want to know? They're both dead."

"I have to give my report to the Ariqun; explain why I killed one of our own and let a traitor live."

"Traitor? You mean Maraas?"

"Yes. Please tell me, Hawke."

Taarbas's clear aquamarine eyes stared into hers, she felt Maraas's hand find hers and gently squeeze in encouragement. She realised that telling the story might ensure Maraas's freedom. That Taarbas would be able to leave, free to deliver his report without trying to kill a Kossith who was neither Qunari nor Tal-Vashoth, who was simply hers.

"He said I could never speak of it," she whispered, her heart breaking again with her shame of the fierce joy she had felt when the Arishok's heart had exploded, and he died.

"Please. I need to understand." Taarbas's voice was gentle, his eyes intent on her suddenly pale face.

Marian took a deep, shaky breath. "I was summoned to the Compound, I didn't know why. When I got there, the Arishok spoke to the Karasten and took me to his quarters. He stripped me and fucked me on his desk." Her voice was flat, the angry snarl of the Kossith at her side barely registered. "Then he carried me to his bed and fucked me so many times I lost count. When I was too exhausted to please him any more and he was still hard, he summoned the Karasten." Her voice wavered and became bitter. "He had a particular talent. I think he thought he'd be using it on the Arishok." Her cheeks flamed red at the memory.

Maraas winced and closed his eyes against the sudden painful lump in his throat. He knew what she meant. It happened sometimes, that a male was born who was more interested in other males. Some squads tolerated it reasoning that it was waste not to allow the odd ones to give relief to others if they wished it. The Qun had no issue with occasionally seeking a much-needed release. The Arishok had allowed Karasten into his company fully aware of what he was.

"What did he do?"

"They both fucked me until the Arishok wasn't hard any more." Hawke's voice was dangerously flat, the tone daring Taarbas to ask any more about it.

"You think him kidnapping you was revenge?"

"As he kept saying that I would pay for what I did to Him, yes, I'm sure it was revenge." Her tone was angrily scathing.

"He was going to rape her and kill her, make Bassrath-Kata more powerful," Maraas said.

"Have you taken many lovers since then?" Taarbas asked, ignoring the Kossith, his eyes still intent on her face.

"I hadn't taken any until a few nights back, not that it's any of your business." Her eyes flicked briefly to Maraas but returned quickly enough to see the surprise in Taarbas's eyes.

"I thought his devotion to you was as a bodyguard."

"I told you that I love her," Maraas cut in.

"Do you?" Hawke chimed and her eyes were liquid when they found his face.

He shrugged. "Of course. You know that." He looked back to Taarbas, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Although I do take guarding her body very seriously. Her body is very important to me."

"You are lovers?" Taarbas seemed amazed by the idea.

"What can I say? I like big men with horns," Hawke said, lightly defensive.

"He's a different species," Taarbas almost spluttered.

She looked at him impatiently. "So?" Her expression softened suddenly. "You should know that the Arishok apologised to me, he wasn't thrilled about being at the mercy of his body in that way."

"It is something none of us experience. It is hard to imagine," Taarbas admitted, his voice slow. His eyes sought Maraas's. "Is it something you experience? The urge to be inside this female?"

Hawke frowned at being referred to so carelessly but held her tongue, curious how Maraas would answer.

"The thought of being with her would drive me mad if I let it. I have to spend large parts of my day not thinking about her otherwise I would never leave her bedroom and neither would she. I don't expect you to understand, Taarbas. You are Qunari."

Something akin to pain flitted across Taarbas's chiselled face as his eyes closed briefly. "You are right. I don't understand so much." He turned abruptly, his eyes finding the door. "I should leave. I won't be killing you today, Maraas. May you find what you seek … Kadan." He looked back at Hawke. "The Arishok named you Baslit-an and you are Bassrath-Kata. You are worthy for this empty one to follow." He inclined his head to her puzzled frown and quickly left.

Maraas looked at Hawke. "I get to live. It's a good day."

"What did he mean? I am worthy." Marian started back up the stairs towards her bedroom, Maraas behind her.

"He is Qunari. He will never understand why I abandoned the Qun. The Arishok found you alone worthy of respect in this place, and you are Bassrath-Kata. Taarbas would have been killed if he had returned to Par Vollen without the swords, killed for failing the Qun. You gave him his life. In return, he has given you mine when he should have killed me for a traitor."

"You were friends?" She gently closed the door and walked over to the bed.

"For years, a long time ago. He was the one good thing in my life until he was sent to a different squad for advance training and I never saw him again. Then we were shipwrecked here, I saw my chance to quietly leave and set up camp on the coast. I had not been there long when we met for the first time."

"You didn't stay with the Tal-Vashoth for long?" Hawke was fascinated. He had never talked about this so frankly before.

"They were fools. I couldn't be a part of such a broken ideal. It was better to build myself from nothing. To be stripped bare and cleansed of my previous life." His voice was suddenly fierce.

Hawke stroked her fingers gently down his cheek, tracing his full lower lip with one careful fingertip. "You are amazing," she whispered, drawing him closer.

He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Don't ever send me from your side."

"Where I go, you go," she agreed and frowned as he released her hand.

"I just remembered. I have something for you." Maraas said, retrieving his pack and rummaging through it.

Hawke's eyes widened as he placed the carefully uprooted plant into her hands. "You found it," she breathed. "The harlot's blush."

"Harlot's blush?" Maraas repeated, his voice light with sudden amusement. "Well no wonder it was so damn difficult to find."

The room filled with laughter as Hawke carefully laid the flowers on her night table and reached for her Kossith once more.

_Fin_

_Thank you for reading._


End file.
